The Edge of Infinity (War Eternal Book 7)

by M. R. Forbes

  He was back here to put a stop to what had come before. To put an end to the Tetron's efforts to force them to fight an enemy they would never meet otherwise.

  "Five seconds, Colonel."

  Mitchell tightened his grip on the S-17's armrests, increasing the throttle with a thought. The engine whined a little louder, but he kept the electromagnetic foot pads active to hold the hybrid in place. He hadn't seen the planet yet, but he decided he knew how he felt.

  Motivated.

  "Dropping now, Colonel."

  The universe changed, shifting from pitch black back to normal. Mitchell released the magnetic clamps, getting shoved back into his seat despite the inertial dampeners as the S-17 rocketed from the hangar and out into space. The Dove was already there beside him, motionless in the throes of hyperdeath, which only lasted a few seconds for a Tetron. He flipped the fighter around to face the planet far in the distance, his heart clenching at the sight of it.

  "Never again," he promised. "Teegin, what have you got?" He used his p-rat to begin warming up his own FTL drive to make the much shorter jump to the planet's orbit.

  "United Earth Alliance broadcasts, Colonel," Teegin replied.

  He had been a little worried that Teegin might be right about the planet falling under Federation control. He was happy to hear it wasn't.

  "Hyperspace engines are warming," he said, switching the channel on his p-rat. "Falcon, how was the ride?"

  "Smooth as silk, Ares," Kate replied. "Good hunting down there."

  "Thanks." He switched the channel again, eyeing the countdown on his p-rat overlay. "Teegin, anything interesting you can give me before I jump out of range?"

  "I am connecting to the data archives now, Colonel. I am also surveying all public streams to and from the planet's surface. I have confirmed the Battle for Liberty has occurred in this timeline, and that the Alliance was victorious."

  "So we're in business," Mitchell said. "Great." He checked his overlay again. The timer was at five seconds. "Time to go. Wish me luck."

  "I also have. Oh, Colonel, there is something you should know-"

  The clock zeroed out, the S-17 vanishing from the universe. It reappeared a few seconds later, thousands of AU from the Goliath's position. Teegin's voice was gone from the channel, the transmission beyond the range of the fighter. They could still communicate through Tetron systems if they had to, but they had decided not to risk revealing their presence just yet.

  Mitchell navigated the S-17 smoothly around the orbital traffic, winding past dozens of freighters and transports intermingled with a few Alliance cruisers and Planetary Defense gunships and making his way toward the atmosphere. Starships like the S-17 weren't required to report to customs or deal with any of the bureaucratic garbage the larger vessels were subjected to, mainly owing to the fact that other than his fighter, none of them were capable of hyperspace travel and were considered basic pleasure craft. In other words, they were typically piloted by rich people with nothing better to do, and so neither the UPA or Planetary Defense gave them a second thought.

  It worked out in Mitchell's favor, allowing him to guide the S-17 past the waiting cargo ships and directly toward the surface. He adjusted his p-rat as he dropped through the planet's thermosphere, checking the local time. His memory was fuzzy on exactly when he was sitting in the Liberty bar having that drink, but he was pretty sure he was there by now.

  If he was going to save himself, he needed to pick up the pace.

  He brought the fighter down harder, pushing the thrust to max and accelerating toward the ground. He came through the heat shield like a shot, trailing smoke and sinking toward the open plains below like a meteorite. He was at three hundred meters when a thought brought the fighter screaming back into level flight, the legs untucking from beneath the fuselage as he neared a large, abandoned barn. He could see the massive automated tillers crawling the fields around him, and he knew at that moment he had come full circle.

  In the first recursion, his life had been saved by a man called M. A man who was an identical duplicate of himself. As he landed the S-17 and walked it toward the open doors of the barn, he realized the significance and paused. He had always gone with the idea that the M he had met was a clone. A copy of him. But what if he had been wrong this entire time?

  What if it had been an alternate timeline's version of himself who had died?

  He used the hybrid starfighter's articulating hands to pull open the barn door, slipping inside and then closing it again. There wasn't much outside light filtering in, and so he activated the spotlights that sat below the cockpit. A sharp beam appeared, illuminating the space and focusing directly on a sporty looking repulsor bike.

  He stared at the bike, not quite able to believe it. He had seen it before. He had ridden on it with M. He opened the cockpit, the repulsor steps lining up to help him descend to the ground. He dropped his helmet into the fighter, picked up the rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and climbed down. Then he approached the bike, gingerly touching the handlebars and running his fingers along the seat. It was the same one. He was sure of it. And if that were true, then other things might be, too.

  He swung a leg over the bike, straddling it. Then he put his hand on the touchscreen between the handlebars, finding that the security on the bike was disarmed. He started it up, smiling at the whine of the engine. He put a foot down, spinning the bike in a tight donut before releasing and heading for the door.

  The repulsor bike burst out of the barn, streaking across the grass toward the hyperlanes that Mitchel had passed over on the way down. He felt a sense of fear at his discovery, along with a sense of peace. At least now he knew how careful he needed to be.

  Just because he had taken M's place, that didn't mean he wanted to end up like him.

  8

  Mitchell guided the bike down the entrance to the hyperlanes, leaning back as the automated system gained control of his ride and pulled it into the flow of traffic. He was acutely aware of how he must have looked in his dark flight suit and helmet; a long rifle slung across his back. Would the vehicle behind him call the authorities, or would they decide not to get involved?

  Liberty had seen its share of violence caused by the fighting between the Alliance and the Federation, but the crime here was almost non-existent. Especially violent crime. There was a better chance they would assume he was a collector or running a sim or something. He should have planned the whole thing better, but Watson had stolen that opportunity from them.

  It only took a few minutes to reach the city, and Mitchell didn't waste any time getting the bike down a back alley where he would be a little less conspicuous. He paused there to check the clock on his p-rat. He was two minutes away from the bar. He was also one minute behind.

  He leaned forward, hitting the throttle on the bike and speeding down the alley, tearing around the corner and out onto the street. M had taken a position on a rooftop across from the bar with the sole intention of shooting him and unlocking his subconscious memories of the Goliath and the recursions that had occurred before.

  He had no intention of being that subtle, or that patient.

  Instead, he navigated the streets of Liberty, taking a direct line toward the scene. It would be better to interrupt the attempt, to take out the two configurations and grab himself up front. Would there be a Christine in this recursion? If so, would she have any relation to Origin, or maybe Kathy? Or would she be a human or someone else altogether?

  That part of the time loop was still a little confusing to him. The mesh was broken, the future altered, and yet it still seemed to be tracking along the same path, following the same narrative. Liberty was here, just the way he had left it. The Battle for Liberty had still happened. What was the saying again? The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Hopefully, that would work out in their favor.

  He turned another corner, reaching the avenue and bringing the bike to a stop in the middle of the street. The other vehicles swerved aroun
d him, making room. He swung the rifle to his arms and raised it to his shoulder while his eyes flicked to the clock on his p-rat once more. Teegin had used an aggregation of military reports and video surveillance records to time the event down to the second. He was only a few seconds behind. As he switched his view to the rifle's sight, he expected to see a black car paused outside of the pub, the two configurations ready to open fire.

  Instead, he saw nothing.

  He swung the rifle left and right, searching for a sign of the Tetron. The p-rat's reticle landed on a porter outside the hotel across the street from the bar, and then a woman leading a small pack bot along the sidewalk. There was nothing out of the ordinary occurring.

  He dropped the rifle, swinging it over his shoulder and onto his back. Whatever had happened in the last recursion, it wasn't happening the same way in this one.

  He eased the repulsor bike forward, heading for the bar. Someone was sure to have alerted the authorities to the crazy guy with the gun by now, and he expected an LE drone to appear over him at any moment.

  He pulled the bike onto the sidewalk, right next to the transparent polycarbonate windows, leaning his helmet against them to peer in. He found the seat where he was supposed to have been.

  It was empty.

  He shook his head. Was this what Teegin was trying to tell him right before he jumped? At least he knew where he was supposed to be staying.

  It was only a couple of blocks away. He decided to be a little more discreet, pulling the bike across the street and leaving it in an alley. There was a trash recycler on the corner, and he only hesitated for a moment before dropping the rifle into it. He couldn't walk into the hotel toting the weapon, and he didn't want someone happening past and taking it.

  The police drone was going overhead as he joined the traffic on the thoroughfare. Without the helmet and rifle, he doubted it would be able to identify him as the crazy. He was proven right when the smaller bot zoomed past the scene and vanished beyond the buildings once more. They would send a unit to do a sweep on foot, and maybe they would find the bike, but it would take time for them to review the recordings and match everything up. If he weren't on his way back to the Goliath by then, he deserved to be caught.

  He crossed the two blocks, nearing the front of the hotel. He felt a chill at the sight of it, as though his subconscious was making a connection to the location. He never thought he would find himself back where it all started before it all started. He was older now. More experienced. Wiser. He had a real chance to stop the Tetron before they completed their conquest. He had a chance to prevent them from throwing millions of lives away. He had a chance to be the hero he had once only pretended to be.

  "Look," someone said nearby, catching his attention by the excitement in their voice. "There she is."

  Mitchell turned to find the speaker, a teenage girl in a pair of shimmering blue pants and a frilly blouse. She was with her parents, and they were all staring and pointing toward him with an expression of awe. They started breaking his way.

  "The Hero of the Battle for Liberty," the girl said.

  Mitchell froze. Did they recognize him? That couldn't be right. He was older than the Mitchell Williams of this timeline. And hadn't they said "she?" Or had he heard them wrong?

  He remained still as they approached. Unsure. They were only a meter away when he caught a whiff of something that had once been familiar but had been long forgotten until that moment.

  His heart began to race, and he started to turn toward the source of the smell. It was light and sweet, earthy and metallic. It was an interesting combination, one that could only be created by someone who spritzed themselves with a freshener after a long day either inside a mech or working on the mechanics of one.

  The girl and her parents reached the target first, walking right past him as if he didn't exist. He pivoted behind them, his eyes coming around and finally landing on the object of their attention. He wasn't as surprised to see her as he expected he might have been. The scent had already given her away.

  Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the more things changed, the more things changed.

  "Ella," he said.

  9

  She didn't hear him. The girl and her parents had paused in front of her, and the girl was drowning her with adulation.

  "I can't believe it's really you. We were in the audience of the Tamara King Show. We saw the whole interview. I want to be a pilot like you. I'm going to enlist when I'm old enough."

  The parents beamed proudly, excited.

  Ella smiled at the girl. "The Alliance needs every pilot we can get," she said. "I hope to see you in training in a few years."

  The girl bowed. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Ella," Mitchell said again, a little louder.

  He couldn't believe it was her either. He couldn't believe she was alive. She looked exactly as he remembered her, as he had last seen her before the battle. Beautiful, in a rugged way. Old emotions flared, and for a moment all he wanted to do was take her in his arms. His first real love. She was alive.

  She also wasn't paying any attention to him. She was still talking to the girl and her parents, giving them information on how to enlist when the time came.

  "Captain North," Mitchell said, switching gears, calling her sharply by rank.

  She looked up then, her eyes piercing his. There was no sign of recognition there. Did she not know him?

  "If you'll excuse me," she said to the girl. "I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you. Remember, stay fit, work hard, do your best in school if you want to be an officer."

  "Yes, ma'am. I will."

  She bowed slightly, and then took the few steps over to reach him while the girl and her parents headed inside.

  "Do I know you?" she asked.

  He hesitated for a moment, not sure how to answer that.

  "You're a soldier. I can tell that much by the way you're standing. And you know who I am." She paused and then smiled. "Then again, everyone on Liberty knows who I am these days. It's the curse of doing your job a little too well."

  "My name is Mitchell Williams," Mitchell said, keeping his focus on her, in search of any sign that she knew him. "Colonel Mitchell Williams."

  There was nothing. No recognition at all. Whatever had happened here on Liberty, he hadn't been part of it. Did that mean he had never been assigned to Greylock? He was feeling the sting of Watson's manipulation. He wished Teegin was nearby, so they could discuss this wrinkle.

  "Colonel," Ella said, bowing. "What can I do for you? You don't look like you're about to give me orders."

  "My apologies for interrupting, Captain. I just arrived on Liberty, and I saw those civilians recognized you. I thought you could use the backup."

  She laughed. "Have we met before? Because you seemed to be reading my mind." She looked at the hotel. "Being famous gets a little tiresome."

  Mitchell smiled. "Not quite the same as being in the cockpit," he said. "I get it." He exaggerated his breath. "Although it smells like you've managed to find some active time?"

  She laughed again. "I'm impressed that you noticed."

  "It's my job, ma'am," he joked.

  It was good to hear her voice again. To hear her laugh again. He wished he could stick around to talk to her longer, but if this timeline's Mitchell wasn't here then he had no cause to linger. He would explain to Teegin what had happened when he returned to the Goliath, and they could figure out where he had been assigned from there.

  Right now, he had another stop to make.

  "Anyway," he said. "I just thought I would introduce myself, seeing that we were both standing a few meters away from one another. Maybe I'll see you around the base?"

  "I would like that, Colonel," she said. "But it isn't likely. I've got some formal Gala to attend in two days, and then I'm heading off-world." She paused. "Come to think of it, I'm still in search of a date for the evening if you're interested?"

  "Are you asking me out, Captain?" Mitchell said. "You don't
even know me."

  "I think I know you better than you realize, just by looking at you. Your age. Your body language. You're more than a soldier. You've seen things. You've survived them. You're a badass. Special ops, maybe?"

  "Not quite," Mitchell said. A part of him wanted to go with her, but this recursion wasn't his playground. He had a job to do. "I'd love to, Captain, but I've got other duties to attend to. I wish you the best of luck with the public stiffs."

  She nodded. "Understood. Thank you. I think I'm going to need it. Maybe we'll intercept one another again sometime, and you can save me from another rogue teenager?"

  "I'll look forward to it."

  He bowed to her, and she bowed back. It took some effort for him to tear himself away, to turn his back on her and return to where he had left the bike. Seeing her again had brought all of his memories of her bubbling to the surface. He had a good thing with Kate, a connection that spanned the extent of time. Even so, there was something about Ella, something that seeing her alive would make difficult to shake.

  He took two slow steps away, breathing in a couple of extra times to collect the smell. He could sense her heading for the hotel entrance behind him.

  A dark car was approaching in the street ahead.

  Mitchell's eyes locked onto it. It was accelerating, moving over into the nearest lane of traffic. It was familiar. Too familiar.

  He spun on his heel, pushing off and surging back toward the hotel. His eyes landed on Ella, who was only now turning her head to look at him, having heard him coming.

  He got his arm on her shoulders, pulling her toward the ground as the repulsor car neared, window already down, the muzzle of a gun pointing out of it.

  They started shooting, the bullets whizzing past, screaming in the air where she had been standing only a second earlier. The rounds tore into the front of the hotel, and the doorman who was about to assist her entry.

  Mitchell and Ella hit the ground. Mitchell used his p-rat to push synthetic hormones into his system, augmenting his senses. He was only down for an instant, and he rolled to his feet, springing up and toward the car.