Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1)

by M. R. Forbes

  "My name is Colonel Buford, I'm a liaison for what we're calling Project Olive Branch."

  "Where did you come from?"

  He smiled. "Originally? Idaho."

  She returned the smile. "No, sir. I mean, I didn't know we added another head."

  "Technically, you didn't. I arrived a few hours ago from Camp Alpha."

  Camp Alpha was the base closest to the main wreckage site. She felt her heart begin to beat faster.

  "Oh. Isn't that a weird time to be traveling, sir?"

  "It is, but I have my orders. Anyway, I had heard from your XO that you like to get up early, and seeing as how my visit is sensitive in nature, I thought it was best to strafe you from the darkness."

  "An ambush? How long have you been watching me?"

  "Long enough to know your form is perfect, and I mean that in every non-sexually harassing way." He reached into his pocket and unfolded his data board. "Your combat record is impressive."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "So is your physical training. Black belt in three... no, four different martial arts?"

  "It's like learning multiple languages. It gets easier the more you know."

  "You're also an accomplished cellist?"

  "That's an overstatement, and trust me, I'm nowhere near as perfect as your docket is making me out to be."

  "Modest, too. I understand why he recommended you."

  "Who recommended me, sir? For what?"

  "Your squadron commander, Captain Johns. He thought you would be an excellent candidate for Olive Branch."

  "What's Project Olive Branch?"

  He glanced down at the board. "Sorry Lieutenant, I don't have enough time to go into detail, and in any case you need to tell me you're interested before I can get you security clearance. All I can say right now is based on what Captain Johns told me, this is straight up your alley."

  She felt her heart pulsing, her body tingling from excitement. If Colonel Buford was here from Camp Alpha, there were only so many possible reasons. "I have to tell you I'm interested, before you can tell me what I'm interested in?"

  "You gotta love the military."

  "I do, sir. I'm interested."

  He glanced down at the board, tapped it a couple of times, and turned it towards her.

  "We don't have time for you to read the whole thing. It basically says keep your mouth shut, there are no guarantees, we're not responsible if you die, etcetera. Sign on the red line, and you'll be transferred to Alpha by tomorrow afternoon."

  She put her finger to the board, sliding it across the line.

  "I'm honored, sir," she said.

  He smiled. "You should be."

  16

  He'd been dreaming about Holly. It had started well and gone downhill from there, until the petite woman had morphed into the Major, her scowl and angry barking stealing every bit of his aroused thunder.

  A hand jostling his shoulder woke him up.

  "Mitchell," Christine said. Her voice was worried.

  His eyes snapped open. "What's going on?"

  "We have a problem. We need to get you out of here."

  He bounced to his feet, his soldier's instincts catching up to his bad civilian habit. "Why?"

  "Do you remember when I said nobody would find out about what really happened at the Battle for Liberty?"

  There was a knock on the door. A physical knock. Then another on his p-rat. Tamara King.

  "Shit," Christine said. "That son of a bitch."

  "Tell me what's happening."

  "The Prime Minister. He has access to classified data banks. He pulled yours."

  Tamara King knocked his p-rat again.

  "He told the Queen of Talk that I didn't take the Shot," Mitchell said, his voice flat.

  "Yes."

  Mitchell looked at the door. He expected he might have been afraid, or angry, or something.

  He laughed instead.

  "What's funny?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I always worried about the truth coming out. I'm more relieved than I thought I would be. More relieved than scared." He realized it was true. He'd been living the lie for the last two months, and he'd been miserable for it.

  "That won't last," she said. "General Cornelius is five minutes away from finding out about this, and he's going to be quick handling damage control."

  "So?"

  Tamara King's knock came again. Mitchell deleted her sig, cutting her off.

  "So whose side do you think he's going to take? Yours or the Prime Minister's? In five minutes, he's going to label you a fraud who sexually assaulted the Prime Minister's wife."

  "I didn't-"

  "It doesn't matter. She thinks you did, and you can bet if the Prime Minister is upset enough to out your involvement in the battle, he's going to back her story. Especially now that your integrity is in question."

  "In question? It sounds to me like it's already been flushed. I'm going to be court-martialed and sent to prison on Kolmar. Not to mention becoming the most hated man in the galaxy."

  "If you're lucky. I think he'd just as soon have you shot before you can get out of the building." She looked back at the door. "The bitch is outside your door, and its the only way out. Do you have your sidearm?"

  "What do I need my-"

  "Do you have it?"

  Mitchell shoved his uniform jacket to the side.

  "I'll distract her, you make a run for it."

  "Christine, what the hell are you talking about? Where am I going to run to? The second General Cornelius gives the order to have me arrested, every military and law enforcement unit on the planet is going to be looking for me. I'm not exactly inconspicuous."

  "Get to the spaceport, find a transport off the planet."

  "Who's going to take me?"

  "Sneak onto one. You survived three months stranded in a Delphi jungle. I know you're more resourceful than you act."

  "You're serious about this?"

  "Dead serious. We don't have time to argue."

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her face close to his. "Who are you?" he asked. "And why would you help me run?"

  Her eyes stared into his. They were intense, so intense. "The Goliath. Find it. They're coming."

  "What? What are you talking about?" He clenched her shoulders tighter beneath his hands. His initial resigned calm was threatening to turn into panic.

  "Find it." She leaned forward in his grip, her lips pressing to his. She kissed him quickly. "Now."

  She pulled herself forcefully away, moving to the door and opening it. Mitchell ducked to the side, out of view of Tamara, who was standing in the hallway with a recorder at her back.

  "Where is Captain Williams?" he heard her ask.

  "Whoever leaked his location to you gave you the wrong room number," Christine said.

  "I don't think so," she argued. "Please move aside."

  "You can't tell me what to do."

  "That's why I said please. I'm already aware that Captain Williams lied to the military about his actions during the Battle for Liberty, an offense punishable by life in prison. Are you protecting him, Major? What do you think the fallout of that would be?"

  Mitchell kept himself pressed against the wall. Christine was only a couple of feet away.

  "Fine. You want to come in? Come in. He isn't here." She moved aside to let Tamara and her recorder enter, positioning herself in front of him. The Queen of Talk charged into the room, and Christine stayed right on top of her to keep her from turning his way.

  "Captain Williams?" Tamara shouted. "I know you're here."

  Mitchell crept forward, slipping past Christine and out the door. He ran to the end of the hallway, even as he heard the Major fighting with Tamara again.

  He had five minutes, maybe less.

  He needed to get out of the building and onto the street. The spaceport was only a couple of miles away, he could run that in no time.

  Why was he running?

  He didn't want to die.
No. It was more than that. The Goliath. It wasn't his imagination. It couldn't be. Could it?

  He reached the lift, pausing before he summoned it. They could find him through his p-rat. He brought it up and flipped through the menus until he reached the hard reset option. It would reboot the interface, give him a minute of invisibility before he would have to do it again. They could still track him, but not as easily.

  He eschewed the lift for the emergency stairs, moving around behind the shaft and opening the manual door. It was a long way down. He kept going, his feet quick on the steps.

  He had covered almost ten floors by the time his ARR rebooted. He got a knock the minute it came back online. Then a second.

  "Christine," he said, answering the first.

  "The order just went out, Mitch. They're look-" The communication cut out.

  "Captain Williams," the voice echoed in his head. It was General Cornelius. "We have a situation. Deliver yourself to base immediately."

  Mitch paused on the steps. He could do as the General said. Return to base and take his chances. He looked up towards the forty-second floor, and then moved his p-rat back to the reset screen. Once he rebooted again, he couldn't go back.

  He remembered the image of the Goliath, the massive structure, and the feeling of familiarity that had washed over him. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what any of this meant, but he had to find out.

  He hit the reset.

  17

  The first officer caught up to him on the ground floor, opening the door to the stairs at the same time Mitchell reached the bottom. They were in one another's face for only a second before Mitchell's fist hit the man hard in the gut, doubling him over. He knocked the gun from the officer's hand and threw him to the ground, rushing through the door and out into the lobby.

  He didn't want to kill anyone.

  There were a lot of civilians in the hotel, waiting on nearby couches, talking to the concierge, or crossing to the lifts. A squad of police were moving in through the front, a precursor to the military that would follow.

  Mitchell ducked back into the stairwell. It continued down another dozen floors, into the basement and a garage below it. He kicked the first officer again, knocking him out and keeping him down, and then returned to the descent.

  The ARR finished resetting.

  "Third floor parking."

  The voice was clear in his mind. It was muffled but familiar. Who had spoken to him without a knock signal? How?

  Christine had helped him escape. She had even kissed him, as if that wasn't strange enough. Now someone was giving him directions? He navigated the p-rat back to the reset and hit it again.

  The door to the stairwell opened above him.

  "Captain Williams! Stop, or we will shoot."

  He drew the AZ-9 and kept going. He wouldn't shoot first, and he wouldn't hit them if he did. They were only following orders.

  The bullets pinged the steps and railing around him, whizzing by his head, coming dangerously close to ending the chase before he even discovered who had sent him the message. Mitchell turned his head and fired back, keeping his aim high, hoping to push them off. The officers' volley paused while he unloaded a few rounds and reached the third floor, and then resumed as he hit the touchscreen to make it open.

  It didn't.

  "What?" Mitchell said. He hit it again, and then ducked into the corner, squeezing against the wall to avoid the gunfire. He should have expected this. The entire building was on lockdown.

  The bullets stopped coming.

  "You can't get out, Captain. Please, just come out with your hands up."

  They were coming down the stairwell, slowly enough to back away if he started shooting at them again. Mitchell cursed silently and glanced over at the door. He wasn't going to be getting out that way. The only escape from the stairwell was in the officers' custody.

  "Ok. Don't shoot. I'm coming out." He put the AZ-9 on the ground and kicked it out where they could see it. "I'm unarmed."

  He started inching away from the wall. The officers were still up a couple of floors, leaning down, weapons trained on him. One broke away, descending faster to bind him.

  His p-rat came back online.

  "Get out of the way," the voice said. "Now!"

  Mitchell's combat training took over. He reacted instantly, dropping and rolling forward, his hand going out to where the AZ-9 was resting on the ground. He grabbed it at the same time something hit the door and it exploded inward in a screeching cacophony of grinding metal. The officers fell back in surprise.

  The door was reduced to mangled slag. Mitchell hurried to his feet, ignoring the burning in his back from a piece of shrapnel that had skimmed him. If he hadn't reacted as quickly as he did, he would have been dead. He took a pair of stumbling steps and then dashed out into the garage. The soft woosh of a bike approached from his left, and then it was next to him, the rider holding out a helmet and beckoning him to get on.

  He recognized the bike and the rider right away. The assassin that had tried to kill him. Now they were helping him? He paused, unsure, until he heard the sound of boots on the steps behind them. He took the helmet, pulled it over his head, and swung onto the back of the bike. The repulsers whined as they worked to hold it steady at the new unbalanced force, and then they were off, racing across the parking lot well ahead of the police.

  "Whatever happens, don't take off the headgear," his rescuer said through speakers in the helmet. A man, judging by the solid shape of him beneath Mitchell's arms. "It's jamming the transmissions to and from the ARR."

  "Who are you?" Mitchell asked.

  They hit the ramp up, and the bike skidded on pads of air, drifting around the turns towards the exit.

  "Later," came the reply. "Once we're safe."

  The bike reached the ground level. The gate was closed, a police cruiser parked in front of it, four officers positioned behind the car with their rifles aimed forward.

  They slowed but didn't stop. The assassin pulled something from in front of him and tossed it up into the air. It was a small, flat disc, and it spun stationary for a split-second before zipping forward.

  It exploded when it hit the gate, the force strong enough to push the car and the police behind it back, tearing them apart and clearing the wreckage from their path. The bike sped up, whizzing past the carnage and out into the street.

  "You killed them," Mitchell said, feeling nauseous at the idea. These were the good guys. Men and women with families that were only doing their jobs and trying to keep the city safe.

  "They would have killed you."

  He turned to look back at the smoke pouring from the side of the hotel. Whatever happened from here there was no going back.

  They zoomed onto the street, the agility of the bike keeping them at a good pace as they looped around and between the mix of piloted and automated vehicles, threading their way in the direction of the spaceport. They made it three blocks before the first of the military air support arrived in the form of a small, wedge-shaped drone with a rotating laser cannon slung between the repulsers on either side.

  It moved in above them, following their path but not risking a shot in the density of the city. It was no doubt recording their position, helping the other units determine a way to box them in.

  The assassin picked up another of the discs and threw it upwards, in the general direction of the ship. It hovered for a moment and then rose towards it. The onboard computer must have identified it as a threat because the laser cannon swiveled and fired a single shot at it. For the AI to fire, it had to be certain it wouldn't hit any civilians.

  Somehow, the disc avoided the Shot. The laser hit a car in front of them, burning through its engine and dropping it to the pavement like a stone. A moment later, the disc hit the ship and exploded, knocking the craft from the sky. The largest piece of debris plummeted onto the street behind them, leading to crashes and screams.

  The destruction seemed to spur the defenses i
nto more aggressive action. Two more of the drone ships fell into the space between buildings, cannons rotating towards them and preparing to fire. The assassin skidded to the left and down an alley before they could take the Shot, cutting into a space too narrow for the ships to follow. He came to a stop halfway through, dropping a small device onto the street before returning to the original path.

  "Dummy signature," he said, explaining the maneuver. The device would fool the AI into thinking they were still sitting in the alley, a trick that would buy them a little bit of time.

  "It's still a kilometer to the spaceport," Mitchell said. "It's going to be crawling with military."

  "We're not going to the spaceport. We just want them to think we are."

  They burst back out onto the street, finding the traffic stalled in the mayhem and the pedestrians retreating to the safety of the buildings. It made it easier for them to travel, the bike able to climb the hoods of the other vehicles, or ride along the sidewalks. They cleared another four blocks, still headed in the direction of the spaceport.

  An armored Suppressor moved out into the street in front of them, the turret on top rotating and opening fire. Bullets kicked up pavement in front of them, and the bike swerved back and forth in an effort to stay ahead of the targeting computers. Mitchell watched it coming, wincing as the bullets drew ever closer to them, waiting for the moment they began to sink into his flesh. The ping of slugs against the frame of the bike was cut short when the bike reached another alley, getting out of the line of fire and escaping the storm.

  They crossed the alley onto another street, turning and lurching forward, cutting across before the Suppressor could catch up. It fired at them from behind as they moved away.

  More drones began flowing in from overhead. If they managed to lock on with their lasers, they were as good as dead.

  "We aren't going to make it," Mitchell said. He didn't even know where his rescuer was taking him, but the net was closing fast.

  The bike continued to accelerate, weaving around stopped cars, bouncing over the sidewalk. He stayed as close to the civilians as he could, knowing the AI wouldn't take a shot as long as innocents were at risk.