The 13: Mission's End Book One

by M. M. Perry

  Naomi slowly moved out from under her table, expecting he’d return at any moment, pounce on her and end the chase.

  Don’t think about him. Focus, she thought.

  There was a stairwell near the cafeteria, the last one she’d need to descend. As she approached the edge of the cafeteria, the tables thinned out. She knew she couldn’t stay there long, but the stairwells had become a new hell for her. She couldn’t hurry down them; the sound of the metal made too much noise. She had to creep from step to step, completely exposed. She took one last glance down the hall. She didn’t see Casings. She darted across the width of the hall into the stairwell. Once inside she peered back out down the hall. Half-expecting to see him running down the hall toward her, she was relieved to find the hallway empty.

  Each step down the stairs was agony. Naomi had learned that if she stepped as close to the supports as possible, the vibration noise was less noticeable. She slipped carefully down each step, letting her toes slowly take the weight of her foot, every movement punctuated with a glance upward toward the doorway. When she finally made it to the landing, she bolted for the door, not even thinking about checking her surroundings. She slid into the hallway, trying to stop her momentum as she saw the figure, but it was too late. She crashed into strong arms that gripped her firmly, clamping a sizeable hand over her mouth.

  “Ma’am, we’ve found her.”

  Her captor’s familiar voice sounded quiet in the darkened hallways. Naomi craned her neck to look up. The light was poor, but she recognized Mike regardless. Her eyes spontaneously erupted with tears of relief as she gripped him tightly in a hug.

  “You’ve got a fan, Bullseye,” a man behind Naomi said.

  “Yes, it appears I do. Let’s get moving back to the core. Scouts spotted the enemy on the deck above. Let’s go find out why this one engineer is so important.”

  Mike moved quickly through the hallways, far less concerned about traps and explosives than he was for Naomi. He could see she’d done a good job keeping Casings on his toes. But the signs were there if you were looking, and both Mike and Casings were looking. A shoe scuff there, a small pool of sweat there where she’d holed up. Unfortunately for Naomi, she’d chosen all the most likely places to hide, which was how Mike and Casings found her path so easily. Rooms with lots of clutter were very likely to yield evidence of her being there. Mike paused at the cafeteria and glanced at it. The tables would have drawn her like a magnet. He didn’t bother to go in. If she’d still been in there, she’d have seen him. She would have come out of hiding by then if she was there. He was sure she’d moved on, and he needed to make up ground. He stopped to consider the layout of the ship. Naomi would need to go down another deck to get to the core. He saw the stairwell and made a beeline for it.

  He sensed the movement before he saw it, stopping the knife just before it sliced his throat. The two men grappled, each trying to overpower the other. Mike slammed Casings’ wrist into the stairway’s railing. The knife clattered away, making a cacophonous sound as it bounced down the steps. He looked into Casings’ face and growled as he shoved him back into the hallway adjacent to the cafeteria. Casings’ swept his leg and they both rolled to the floor trying to maintain control. They each gripped the other’s arms, forcing a momentary stalemate as Mike stared down at Casings beneath him. Casings grinned up at him maliciously.

  “I wish I could have waited to kill her until you were there to watch,” he said sadistically. “There were tears in her eyes as I slit her throat. Do you think she was disappointed you didn’t make it there in time to save her?”

  Rage filled Mike. He slid Casings along the floor, slamming him into a wall. They rolled over and over again until they bumped up against tables and chairs in the cafeteria. Casings grabbed a stool between his legs for leverage. He pushed upward, slamming Mike’s head into the top of a table, dazing him. It was enough time for Casings to slip out of reach and pull his pistol from his holster. He took a step forward as their eyes locked.

  “What happened to you, Diego?” Mike asked.

  He felt an undeniable urge to understand his friend, a man he once depended upon in life or death situations, a man he called brother.

  “I should ask the same of you,” Casings spat.

  He leveled the gun at Mike, sensing treachery. He wouldn’t be tricked into letting his guard down.

  “I’m the same man I always was,” Mike said.

  “No. At one time, the greater mission was important to you. Getting the Magellan to Mission’s End was all you ever talked about. Now you jeopardize everything. Why? Because that twisted gennie got into your head. She’s got you thinking all wrong.”

  “Alphea?” Mike asked, confused.

  “That’s the bitch. Ever since she came to you, you’ve lost your purpose. You let civvys get away with murder. You’re afraid to keep the peace. You’re afraid to do what needs to be done.”

  “And killing Naomi, that needs to be done? Why?”

  “She’s a traitor to the greater mission. She’s the puppet of that fucked-up gennie. The one trying to start a revolution two years out. Why can’t they just wait? They can have whatever they want if they wait. All our jobs will be done. But they’re too selfish. They want everything now. Right the fuck now, like selfish little children. They’d let everyone lose just so they can have a meaningful fuck.”

  Mike’s jaw dropped open.

  “You… you knew about the counseling? And you don’t have a problem with that?”

  “It keeps them in line, Mike. A firm hand. Or have you forgotten?”

  “I remember all too well. Maybe it’s you who doesn’t. They were kids, Diego.”

  “They were expendable. We all are. This isn’t about us. It’s about the future. The greater mission. You used to understand that.”

  “That gives you the right to be a disgusting human being? To assault a woman? To say those things? I get it, brother. You were brainwashed. But you’re the only one I know who thinks that way that seems to enjoy it.”

  Diego frowned.

  “No. I don’t enjoy it. It’s the job. I do the shit they ask because it’s the right thing to do. They want the girl scared. They want her to quit. Saying a few foul things to her is a helluva lot kinder than breaking her knees. We don’t get the privilege of liking our jobs. That doesn’t mean we don’t have to do them.”

  “Diego,” Mike said, his voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come to you sooner. I should’ve helped you. I could’ve…”

  Casing’s felt his resolve begin to slip. He tightened the grip on his pistol and looked down the sight at his old friend.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” he lied.

  As he finished the last word, something heavy slammed into his head from behind. He crumpled to the floor revealing Kitch, a large multi-wrench in his hand.

  “Me, too,” said Kitch as he tucked the wrench back into his pack. “Boss.”

  He reached down to help Mike up. Mike took his hand and struggled to his feet, his ears still ringing from being slammed into the table.

  “You couldn’t have stopped him just a little sooner?” Mike asked, rubbing the back of his head.

  He eyed Kitch suspiciously.

  “I just got here. I was down a deck trying to figure out where the girl got to. I heard the racket and came back. I thought you’d want me to keep her safe. But next time if you’d rather have the babysitter treatment…” Kitch started.

  Mike waved his hands and sat down, trying to stop his vision from swimming.

  “She isn’t dead then?”

  “No, sir. I was trailing Casings. After the turn, I noticed the civvy moved off a little stretch. I figured she was afraid you’d yell at her next.”

  Mike glared up Kitch.

  “Hey,” he put his big hands up in front of him as if warding off a fight. “I’m not saying you were wrong to yell at Book for disobeying. But, it was pretty clear you were treating her like fine china, too
afraid to break her, but that’s not my place to say in front of the others. Here, I can speak my piece without undermining your authority.”

  “Get to the point, soldier,” Mike growled, wincing as fresh nausea hit him.

  “I saw Trigger and Casings exchange a nod. I figured whatever they were planning was about to go down. When Trigger started running and heading down the hallway toward you, screaming grenade, I ducked in a room. Watched Casings go after the girl. Then I just trailed him. I figured you guys could handle Trigger without me, and someone had to watch the target. Then I heard all the com chatter, and well,” Kitch shrugged. “It just seemed prudent to keep watching him. I saw him come in here,” Kitch gestured around the cafeteria. “He spent a lot of time looking. He would have found her, too, if someone hadn’t been moving around further on down the deck. I watched her go down the stairs, and followed. By the time I got to the bottom, she was gone. I looked all around. You know the rest.”

  “So she got away,” Mike said, standing up, his vision starting to clear.

  “Or someone else picked her up. Either way, there wasn’t any sign of foul play down there.”

  Mike looked down at Casings’ unconscious body.

  “What do we do with him?”

  Kitch spat.

  “Man should be spaced. But I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say we don’t have time for that. We can zip tie him to the table, that’d keep him here anyway.”

  “He’ll get out of a zip tie,” Mike said.

  “Not out of my zip ties, boss.”

  Kitch reached in his bag and pulled out four industrial zip ties.

  “You weren’t kidding. Tie him up.”

  Kitch shoved Casings over to a table and began tying him to it, wrapping his arms and legs around the center support. Mike moved to the stairwell and glanced down it. He never heard the approaching group.

  “Don’t move, soldier.”

  Mike put his hands up in the air and sighed. He was wondering when he was going to catch a break when he turned around to see Book pointing a rifle at him. Book’s eyes opened wide in shock.

  “What the…”

  “Book? The machine said six hours. Where’s Chef, and who’re…” Mike looked around at four soldiers he recognized from his platoon. “Did someone send backup?”

  Book pressed his radio.

  “Bullseye,” he said into it. “Are you still down in the core?”

  Mike couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he started to get an eerie feeling. Now that he looked more closely at Book, he noticed a scar on his face that he couldn’t recall Book having – a nasty one that had to be years old.

  “Because I’m looking at you right now. I’d swear it was you. Even has the same confused puppy dog look you get when you don’t understand something I say,” Book continued, talking into his radio.

  “Uh huh. Alright. Roger that,” he said, then addressed Mike. “Where are the rest of your men?”

  “One’s right here,” Kitch said from behind him.

  Book and the rest turned to see Kitch pointing a rifle at them.

  “I suggest you let my commander go,” he said.

  Book and his squad didn’t move to release Mike. Book’s mouth was agape.

  “Pack Rat?” he said in awe.

  “Why is Book dressed like the enemy, and why is he acting like he hasn’t had enough oxygen today?” Kitch asked.

  Book lowered his weapon and rushed Kitch. He opened his arms wide. Kitch awkwardly accepted the gesture and leaned in to receive the hug. Mike touched his head gingerly, wondering if maybe he’d blacked out and was in a fever dream. Book pulled back and pointed at Kitch.

  “This is amazing! I mean, you guys should come with me. The commander says everything will make more sense when we get you back to your friend. Also, I’m…” Book stopped as he noticed Casings groaning on the floor.

  He walked over to him and looked down.

  “Huh,” he said.

  Then he promptly shot Casings in the face.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Mike and Kitch. “I don’t know how you managed to do it, but that’ll sure win you points with everyone. Anyway, your friend, Naomi, my commander says she mentioned a woman named Chef. And a guy named Book. Since you’ve been calling me that, I’ll bet he’s the handsome one of the bunch.”

  Book waited a beat, as if expecting laughter. He pouted and continued with his question.

  “Where are the rest of you? I’ll send a squad to pick them up and get them to the core.”

  Mike stared at the pool of blood enveloping Casings’ body.

  “Medical Unit, starboard,” he said absently.

  Book or, as Mike realized, Book’s doppelganger radioed for a team to fetch the real Book and Chef. Doppelganger Book motioned for them to follow him and they descended the stairs. Mike followed with Kitch next to him. They exchanged questioning glances as they moved through the remainder of the ship toward the core.

  They passed through an archway into a well-lit room that was filled with a deep humming sound Mike could feel in his bones. The room was full of people, mostly in civilian jumpsuits. He guessed there were a hundred or so there. Mike looked around and spotted Naomi, safe and sound, and finally felt relief. She ran to him and gave him a hug.

  “You figured out my message?”

  “Yes. Naomi, what is…”

  Mike stopped as the spitting image of himself walked up behind her.

  “They call me Bullseye here. I take it you’re Eagle Eye. It’s odd to meet you.”

  Mike looked down at the outstretched hand. He was reaching out to grab it when Doppelganger Book shouted.

  “No, wait! You’ll tear a hole in space time! You can’t exist in the same place at the same time!”

  Both Mikes looked at Doppelganger Book like he’d gone crazy. He grinned wildly.

  “So worth it.”

  “Alright, Prof. You’ve had your fun. I think everyone deserves a few answers, don’t you?”

  Prof sighed and sat down as a tall, graceful, black woman with almond eyes and tightly braided hair stepped out of the crowd.

  “Alphea?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, actually. Identical in every way to your Alphea, name and body.”

  Eleven

  “You know all the ships in the colonizing fleet were built identically, correct?” Alphea asked Naomi and Mike.

  A civilian with medical stripes was ministering to Mike’s head injury as they talked.

  “Sure, I just didn’t know the extent,” he said.

  “Now you do. Every ship in the fleet has identical sterile human embryos on board. The builders did all the work carefully engineering the perfect makeup of people to run a ship for nearly seven hundred years. They didn’t want to needlessly repeat this work for each ship. They just copied everything for all the ships, except for the fertile embryos. Other than that, each ship has a different collection of fertile human embryos, maximizing genetic diversity. In fact, each ship is copied right down to the names we’re assigned. The soldiers have some variation, because they pick their own nick names. Until she passed away last week, Naomi Tesla also existed on this ship. We haven’t even had time to log her demise. That’s why the Tereshkova’s systems have been recognizing you. She wasn’t a second engineer here because her experiences on the Tereshkova were different than yours on the Magellan. She never had to rush to save the power regulator, for instance, giving her the chance to quickly advance through the ranks.”

  “So every ship has a me on it?” Mike asked.

  “Has, had, or perhaps will have,” Alphea said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The Tereshkova and the Magellan were very close to the same conformity. That means our incubation schedules lined up well. We went through our store of new citizens at roughly the same rate as you. The probability is high that our population makeup overlaps significantly. But a ship like the Sacagawea, with conformity in
the low teens, isn’t likely to overlap very much with us.”

  “Did our Alphea know all this?” Naomi asked.

  “No. She suspected it, as I suspected it. In both our cases, our leaders kept certain gennies in the dark, those they didn’t agree with. They didn’t want someone second-guessing them. Your Alphea had been trying to crack the communications encryption between our ships. When she managed it, she contacted me, guessing correctly that I was the gennie who helped the civilians here take control of our ship,” Alphea said.

  “How could she know it was you?” Naomi asked.

  “Because she’d been planning just such a coup for your ship. She concluded that the two ships were sharing tactics for population control, but on the Tereshkova, they applied the counseling methods your ship employs in a much more liberal manner so things came to a head more quickly. Either way, it’s unacceptable. It’s not what the builders would have wanted. Conformity was not established to force our societies into a strict structure. It was a guide put in place to help us maximize the potential of the crew for getting us to Mission’s End safely. That’s all.”

  “How do you know?” Naomi asked.

  “Over the years, the Tereshkova has been inconsistent with how it’s defined what constitutes conformity. As long as I’ve been alive, only one aspect of their tales about conformity remained the same, the fourteenth ship. Command has used that carrot to try various methods of controlling the population. The Magellan, on the other hand, has been using their counseling method, as they call it, for far longer and much more successfully. The Tereshkova, realizing none of their homegrown methods were working, decided to ask the Magellan for advice.