by M. R. Forbes
He was supposed to be here, to fight a war for the fate of humanity. He couldn't quite get his head around that, either. He didn't need to. One step at a time, one objective at a time. He could do that. First, he had to get the injured Riggers into the Valkyrie so their medi-bot could put them back together.
"Origin, unlock the Valkyrie."
Unlike the transport, the dropship had multiple exodus points: a smaller personnel and mech ramp on the left side, a larger launch bay on the right, and a belly that could hinge open in atmosphere and release any given amount of it in one quick pass. Mitchell had ridden both jumpships and dropships into battle before. It was a terrifying, exhilarating ride. He had a feeling he was going to get a chance to do it again.
Soon.
It was the main ramp that began to slide open, the armored hull extending out and down. Mitchell waited to the left of it, suddenly nervous that Major Long might have decided he would try to take the Goliath by force and capture the fugitive. Unlike the Riggers, the Major's team was fully armed and operational.
Brighter light spilled out into the hangar from the opening hatch. Mitchell squinted to see through it, to the slender man standing at the base of it, flanked by a second man and a woman. They were wearing standard Alliance officer's uniforms, crisp blues with high collars. He dropped his gaze to their sides. They were unarmed.
They turned their heads towards him. He could see they were trying to hide their surprise that he was who he had told them he was.
"Captain Williams," the slender man said, shouting to be heard over the distance and the hum of the hydraulics lowering the ramp. "Major Aaron Long." He bowed slightly in salute.
Mitchell returned the bow. "Major. Welcome aboard the Goliath." He knocked Origin. "You can unlock the fighters also. Let them out."
The hatches of the fighters opened with a hiss as the pressurized air was released. The pilots slipped over the sides and dropped to the floor, heading towards him, hands on their sidearms.
It was the reason he hadn't let them out before he saw how Major Long was armed. Not that he didn't think Origin could defend the ship if it came down to it.
Major Long and his officers hopped from the ramp before it finished extending to the ground, converging on Mitchell with the pilots. His head twitched when he gazed past to the assembled Riggers.
"You're supposed to be dead," the officer with him repeated.
"Yes."
"Relax, Lieutenant Borov," Long said. "Captain Williams, let me introduce you to my second, Captain Wanda Alvarez."
Mitchell looked the woman over. She had an olive complexion, dark hair, a small nose and big eyes. She had large hips and a large chest, though Mitchell couldn't tell if it was muscle or fat beneath the uniform.
"Captain," Mitchell said.
She smiled. Her teeth were a perfect straight, white line. "Captain."
"And Lieutenant Alexander Borov," Long continued.
Borov was twice the size of Alvarez, and his body was definitely fat, though he was nowhere near Watson's girth. He had two chins, a red face, and beady eyes that regarded him with suspicion.
"Lieutenant."
Borov stared at him.
"We'll schedule a debriefing once we get all of this figured out," Mitchell said. "In the meantime, I have injured crew. I assume the Valkyrie has a medi-bot on board?"
"We do," Major Long said. "And a doctor, Sergeant Grimes."
"You have a doctor? Even better."
Long put up his hand. "I'm all for treating the wounded, Captain, and I'm eager for a debriefing that will explain where this ship came from, why it is covered in alien-" He trailed off, not sure what to call them. "Tendrils? Why a dead man is piloting it, why we attacked and destroyed another alien ship, who those other people are, and why I can't remember anything since we came out of hyperspace near that star? I'm especially interested in whether or not you have an explanation for that."
Mitchell opened his mouth to reply.
"One moment, Captain," Long said. "First, we have another matter we need to settle. According to the media, you're a fraud and a rapist. According to Command, you're also supposed to be dead. Add that up, and it's left me wondering what the truth is? I saw what you did to that other ship, and you've given us safe haven and a way out of certain death, so I'm inclined to put more faith in you than I would otherwise. What I want to know, Captain, is where your loyalties are?
"Humankind, Major. And the Alliance." He motioned back towards the Riggers. "All of us are with the Alliance."
Major long nodded. "Then you won't have any hesitation about turning command of this ship over to me?"
"What?" Mitchell felt his heart begin to pound. Was the Major about to do what he thought he was about to do, after he had saved his life? All of their lives?
"If you are for the Alliance, as you say, then this vessel has become an Alliance asset. As the ranking officer, it is reasonable to expect that command of this ship falls to me."
"I could have left you out there, stranded," Mitchell said, clenching his teeth to keep himself from punching the man. It wasn't a good idea with the armed pilots standing next to them.
"You didn't, Captain, and I don't think you would have. Not if you aren't what the media says you are."
Mitchell glanced from Long to Borov, and then to Alvarez. He had a feeling the Major had been planning this from the moment he had told him the Valkyrie could come aboard. It was a gutsy move to pull rank in this situation, but why wouldn't he? He had the guns, he had the numbers, he had the health. He couldn't know that the ship was more than tendrils and poly-alloy; that there was something else on board.
He was silent for a moment, letting his heart rate calm. Slow. Steady. The anger faded, turning into amusement. He started to laugh.
"Is something funny, Captain?" Alvarez asked.
"I hate to tell you this, Major," Mitchell said. "You aren't the ranking officer on this ship."
7
He led a confused Major Long and his officers back to where the Riggers were waiting. Millie was sitting on the floor, using Shank's big legs to prop her up, while the others huddled around her.
"Major Aaron Long," Mitchell said to Millie.
She reached up and took Shank's arm, using it to pull herself to her feet.
"Major," Millie said. "What's the problem, Mitch?"
"The Major would like to take command of the Goliath, ma'am."
"Pulling rank, Major?" she asked.
"Ma'am, I don't know who you or your crew are, but it's clear to me that the Alliance is about to be at war if it isn't already. Military statutes-"
"You don't need to quote rules to me, Major. I'm familiar with them. My name is Admiral Mildred Narayan, Alliance Navy, formerly of the starship Schism."
"Did you say Admiral?" Borov said. He was standing behind Major Long, and his face paled at her suggestion.
"Clearly," Millie said.
"I'm familiar with the names of all of the Alliance admirals," Major Long said. "I don't recognize yours."
"Are you questioning me, Major?"
"No offense intended, ma'am, but there's too much I don't understand yet to just accept you are what you say you are. I've never heard of you, never seen you before, not even in pictures or streams. I'm sure you understand."
"You ever heard of the Riggers, Major?" Cormac asked. He had moved through to the front of the group. "Millie here is an Admiral, sure as shit."
"Cormac," Millie said.
"Sorry, Captain. Err... Admiral."
"I've never heard of the Riggers," Major Long said. "I'll need to see some secure identification. Once I do, I'll believe anything you say. Until then-"
"Until then, maybe you can help me get my people treated," Millie said. "Myself included. If the command of this vessel is in question, then I suggest we leave it in the hands of the man who took control of it and saved all of our lives. Will that satisfy you for now, Major?"
Mitchell could see Long's jaw cle
nch, his teeth grinding. He wasn't happy to be spoken to that way, especially not after he thought he was going to be in charge.
"Temporarily," Long agreed, glancing over at Mitchell. "I felt the move to hyperspace. It seems we have some time to work everything out."
"Thank you, Major," Millie said.
"Follow me."
Major Long turned on his heel and started back towards the Valkyrie. Mitchell took Millie by the arm and helped her across the hangar.
"How bad is it?" he asked.
"Major Long? He'll fall in line. He's a straight shooter, and I have secure authorization stored in my implant. We just need to keep him from trying to mutiny before we either decrypt my firmware or encrypt his for me to transfer it."
"We aren't decrypting. I was referring to your leg."
She smiled. "It'll be fine once the bots stitch it back together." She tugged his arm, pulling his head down closer to hers so she could whisper. "I saw what happened with the enemy starship. How bad is it?"
"You might be sorry you didn't die."
"No. No matter what happens. You need me."
"We need everyone we can get. You're going to be in charge of this show."
"And you're going to be my second. I have the power to promote you. Would you like that, Colonel Williams?"
"One thing at a time. I want to get you treated first."
"Mitch, you know-"
"I know. I want you to be treated first, anyway. I have something I need to show you. They'll understand."
"We're still criminals, Mitch. Still broken."
"Which might make us exactly what humankind needs. We aren't here by accident, Millie. Remember that."
8
Major Christine Arapo opened her eyes. It was dark and silent. She could feel her body, muscles aching from being draped over a mound of rubble that had fallen into the shaft ahead of her. She had fallen far. Too far. Not four floors. The shaft had gone down into a sub level, at least another five or six.
Ten stories? How had she survived?
She shifted her arm, taking it slow to see if it was broken. It was stiff, but it moved without pain. She shifted it until her hand was in front of her face, bringing it forward in the darkness until the faint outline of it became visible. She could still see. She bent her legs, rolling over gingerly, just in case.
Everything seemed to be intact. She was lucky.
She stood and examined herself with her hands, finding the tears in her clothes and the ridges of lacerations across her skin. They were closed. Healing. How long had she been unconscious?
She bent over, feeling along the ground, searching for the carbine. It had been slung over her shoulder when she fell. It had to be there somewhere. She dropped to her knees and rotated in a spiral pattern, staying quiet, taking her time until at last she discovered it against a wall. She ran her hands along it until she was able to activate the display. It provided a minimum of light, but it was enough to see that she had fallen on top of a collapsed basement. The shaft was open on one side, spilling out towards a floor of cement and twisted poly-alloy beams. This wasn't recent damage. It must have been a remainder from the Federation dreadnought's bombardment, covered over and forgotten in the push to hide the scars of war.
Mitchell. The thought led her back to him. Where was he, now? Was he still alive? She wasn't sure why it mattered to her.
She held the carbine crosswise, using the light to navigate across the uneven rubble to the more even flooring beyond. There was no light spilling into the space from anywhere. Had she survived the fall only to be buried alive? She hoped not.
She crossed the space, trying to picture the building in her mind and place herself near the outer wall. It was probably still nighttime. If it were cloudy or raining, there would be no light from the stars.
As if in reply, she noticed the soft ping of water dripping from somewhere. She followed the sound, back along the floor to the south until she reached a door. An emergency exit. She smiled and pushed it open.
The water was there, running down the steps into a small pool. She knelt and took some of it in her hands, bringing it to her mouth. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she had seen the water, and now she drank it with urgency. Then she leaned back against the wall, feeling the draft against her face. She looked up through the center of the spiraling steps. She still didn't see any light, but she was sure it was a way out.
She started climbing the steps, surprised at how much energy she had and the way her body had responded despite the fall. To tumble that far and land on a pile of stone, coming away with nothing but scratches? It sounded impossible, and she would never have believed it if it hadn't just happened.
She could feel the draft growing stronger as she rose until she reached the door that it was sneaking under, along with a steady stream of water. She shifted her grip on the carbine, moving it into a ready position, checking the display to ensure it was still operational.
Then she leaned into the door.
It opened into a small alley between buildings. A heavy rain was falling. There wasn't much light, all of it spilling in from somewhere in the distance, from somewhere the power hadn't been cut.
There was a soldier standing at the mouth of the alley.
He was turning around, reacting to her noise.
Christine mouthed a curse and fired. The soldier was thrown back and down by the force, the bolt exploding through his armor and into his flesh. If there were others around, the noise was sure to draw them.
Bullets smacked the door behind her, gunfire coming from the other end of the guarded alley. She was lucky they were using standard rifles instead of M97s like hers. She turned to face the metal door, using the hit pattern of the slugs to aim. She used her thumb to increase the power on the carbine and fired another round. The bolt punctured the door without difficulty.
The gunfire stopped.
Too much noise. She considered ducking back into the building, but the dents in the door were a clear indication where she was hiding. She ran down the alley towards the first soldier, pausing at the end and craning her neck around the corner. She saw motion a few blocks down, a squad of soldiers organizing and coming her way.
She knelt next to the soldier, grabbing the M1A assault rifle he was carrying and a pair of extra magazines from his belt. She slung the carbine over her shoulder, ducking against the other side of the wall and checking the incoming again. Eight in all, two of them in heavy exo. The carbine could puncture the heavier armor, that's what it had been designed for.
"Other way," she whispered to herself, turning and racing to the opposite end of the alley. She could hear the soft thumps of the heavy exosuit when its wearer began to run.
The rain started coming down more heavily, soaking her by the time she reached the other end. She glanced back, seeing the armored soldiers had reached the alley. She turned the corner before they could fire.
Her eyes were wild, scanning the street in search of opponents. She dropped to her knees, sliding on the wet pavement, using the reduced friction to turn herself in a circle, taking in the layout of the area in an instant before pushing back to her feet. There was another alley a hundred meters away, three soldiers ahead of it. A dozen more soldiers were behind her.
Abandoned cars littered the street, flat obstacles without power to their repulsors. She dove past one ahead of the gunfire that came in behind her, bullets chewing into the metal, the soft whine of the heavy exo's standard rapid-fire coilgun following behind it.
A gun that would tear the car, and then her, apart.
She screamed as she pushed herself out from behind the car, abandoning the M1A and unslinging the carbine. There was no way out of this, no way to avoid being killed. Her training wouldn't let her die without a fight.
She took aim. Fired. Aimed again. Fired. Two of the soldiers dropped, but not the heavy. He was adjusting his aim, his p-rat helping him get a lock.
She ran across the street, towards the cle
ar carbonate front of a restaurant. She could go through, and out the back.
If she could get in.
The carbonate wouldn't shatter, and she would only have a second to get through it before the bullets reduced her to a mound of flesh.
She slid her thumb along the carbine's handle, putting it on full auto, running sideways while firing at the heavy armor. Her aim was impeccable, inhuman, placing a neat pattern of holes into the soldier from three blocks away. His arms dropped to his sides, an indication that he was dead in the suit.
The three soldiers behind her were drawing closer. They opened fire, their rifles much less of a threat than the coilgun. Bullets spit up water behind her, and she slammed into the door, reaching out and grabbing at the seam.
"Please be open," she said, digging her fingers in and pulling. Without power, it wouldn't open on its own.
A bullet hit her shoulder and went through. She held back the pain, using it to pull harder on the door. It finally moved aside, and she fell in, landing on the floor and crawling inside on her stomach. Bullets rained in through the carbonate, but the angle of attack was all wrong to hit her.
She had bought herself seconds at most. She scrambled along the floor until she was halfway in, and then rose and dashed past empty tables towards the kitchen. Into the kitchen and through. No. The freezer caught her attention. No power. No cold. She ran to the door out to the alley, slamming her bloody shoulder against it and leaving a large stain. She checked the display on the carbine. Empty. She dropped it.
She heard the soldiers pulling on the other door, their bigger forms unable to fit through her opening. She padded back to the freezer, her hand clamped on her shoulder, trying to keep it from dripping blood on the floor and revealing her deceit. A thump told her the soldiers had gotten in, and were getting close.
She pulled the freezer open just enough, slipping inside and getting it closed right before the door to the kitchen swung open.