by M. R. Forbes
"If something goes wrong, you'll get that bastard for me, won't you, Colonel?"
"You know I will."
Trevor slammed the door closed and put the truck in gear, backing it up and turning it around. The soldiers were staying back where there was cover, waiting to see what they were going to do. They were being cautious after losing the transport and a fighter, especially since their enemy seemed to have come from within their ranks.
The truck pulled away from the hangar, headed back toward the soldiers. They didn't react to it at first, watching it approach but otherwise remaining calm. Then somebody panicked, or slipped, or something. A shot reported, striking the front of the truck. The action invited the others to follow suit.
Mitchell watched in helpless frustration as they opened up on the vehicle, sending hundreds of rounds into it. He could hear the bullets clanging off the metal sides. He could hear the cracks as they smacked into the resistant windshield. Fortunately, the grenade was mounted away from the soldiers, protecting it from being struck by accident.
Mitchell held his breath as Trevor reached the outer point and began turning the vehicle sideways. He couldn't believe the amount of fire the old truck was taking, but then again it was a hardened military design. It kept moving, sweeping across the open space between the two groups and finally coming to rest at almost the same time the attack was halted.
For a dozen heartbeats, there was nothing. No movement. No sound. It was as if the entire world had fallen silent in wait. Smoke and ash from the first crash drifted across the divide, accenting the situation.
There was a short squeal as the hangar doors began to roll open behind him. In front of him, the soldiers were getting brave, a few of them rising from cover to approach the truck.
"Bulldog, it's time to move," he said. He waited for a reply, but there was none. "Bulldog?"
He could hear the sound of the Screamer's engines at his back, mixing with the opening doors.
"Ares, this is Peregrine. We're ready to go."
The soldiers had noticed the hangar as well and were getting even more bold. More of them were evacuating their positions and heading their way.
"Bulldog?" Mitchell said one last time.
The passenger side door of the truck swung open. Trevor slid out. Mitchell could see blood on his clothes, but it was impossible to tell how bad it was across the distance.
"Colonel, we're waiting on you, sir," Katherine said.
"Let's go Bulldog. Get clear so I can blow it."
Trevor still didn't reply. His comm had to be damaged. He reached the ground and began walking away from the truck, making it a few meters before falling to a knee. He looked up at Mitchell and then shook his head.
He wasn't going to make it.
"Ares, it's now or never," Katherine said.
Mitchell checked on the opposing soldiers. If they didn't blow the truck soon, they would either overrun it or be killed in the blast.
"I'm sorry, Bulldog," he said, raising his rifle to aim at the grenade.
"Ares," Trevor replied, his voice weak. He got back to his feet and turned, lifting a sidearm toward the back of the truck. "Run."
Mitchell didn't hesitate. He ran into the hangar, toward the waiting aircraft.
"Trevor?" Katherine said, noticing him for the first time.
A single report, and then the world flashed a second time. The sound of the explosion was deafening, and the force of it nearly sent Mitchell sprawling. He didn't look back to see it, reaching the steps into the aircraft and nearly throwing himself up them. The hatch closed behind him as the Screamer accelerated from the hangar.
Mitchell stayed on the floor of the jet, his head down. He clenched his teeth and pounded his fist into the ground in frustration. He could hear the engines growing in pitch, and feel the velocity increasing.
"Hang on, Colonel," he heard McRory say.
The plane shook as it crossed the tarmac, slowing when it reached the edge of the runway.
"They're trying to play chicken with me, Colonel," Katherine said. "They've got drones blocking our path out."
"Over, under, or through," Mitchell replied. "I don't care how, but get us out of here."
"Yes, sir."
The plane shuddered again as it began to accelerate, rocketing down the runway at incredible speed. He felt the change as it lifted from the ground, and closed his eyes to wait for the impact. If they were Watson's drones, they would never move. Even if they weren't, he wasn't sure they would concede.
The impact never came. He breathed out heavily in relief as the plane continued in a steep climb, leveling out thirty seconds later.
"Better take a seat, Colonel," McRory said, putting a hand under his arm and helping him to his feet. "The G-forces are a bitch on these things."
The General helped him to a seat, and they buckled in. He saw McRory give Katherine a thumbs up, and a moment later a soft roar signaled the activation of the main engines. Then he was pressed back into his seat as the jet began to accelerate to hypersonic speed.
"We should be over the U.S. in about an hour, Colonel," Katherine said. "We can be in Florida in less than two."
"Good. Let's get our systems integrated with this thing's transmitters asap. We need to tell Yousefi what happened here, and see if we can raise the Riggers."
"Yes, sir," Katherine replied. "It's going to be a challenge to hook up the comm system without Trevor."
Mitchell felt the sting of her words. "He was a good soldier."
"Yes, sir. He was a pretty good friend, too."
"I'm sorry, Katherine."
"Me, too. I told you he wouldn't let you down."
"I know." He had seen the amount of damage the truck had taken. He was fairly sure that Trevor wouldn't have survived long enough to get it into position without his enhancements. "Now it's our job not to let him down."
36
Watson's entire being pulsed with energy, the draw of power causing the lights in the facility around him to flicker and fade before returning to normal.
How could he claim one of his most important victories since he had arrived in this timeline and suffer through another escape by Mitchell Williams in the span of a few hours?
It was incomprehensible. Illogical. Impossible.
There should have been no other way out of Osaka, and he had given Mitchell no reason to suspect that they had been followed. He had resisted the urge to send more mercenaries, for all the good they had done him in Jakarta. He had convinced himself not to nuke the entire area, retaining at least some sense of subtlety in his maneuvers. He had even decided not to place his people on the transport that he had discovered waiting to take them home.
A missile from a fighter. It was simple. Unexpected. And fitting for the pilot who had used the Goliath as a spear, and who had wreaked so much havoc on the Tetron with little more than a tiny space plane.
And he still managed to get away!
Who was the grizzled old fart driving the damned truck that should have been retired a hundred years ago? Where had that player come from? It was as if they crawled from the earth itself to lend aid to Mitchell and thwart even the most rudimentary of his plans.
He shuddered with rage again, this time causing the lights to go out completely. The threads monitoring the facility picked up the confused scientists and soldiers, but Watson's main thread ignored them. He could barely contain his frustration.
He had succeeded in Florida. He tried to remind himself of that. Mitchell's Riggers and his sister had never thought to suspect Sergeant Damon had become one of his. It was a moronic blunder he knew he would never make himself, but one that he expected of the lesser hybrid Tetron. When the Primitive had also failed to guess at the possibility, he had waited in near glee for the big moment to arrive.
Arrive it had, though Kathy did figure it out more quickly than he had hoped she would. Even then, she had been stupid to check the pilot first, and to do it in full sight of the rear where he could see
her through Damon's eyes. The moment wasn't opportune, but it was good enough, and not only had he put an end to the idiotic Doctor Paul Frelmund, but he had also managed to take one of the Riggers down with the host.
It was a blow he knew his sister would be feeling. They had wasted too much time searching for a replacement to the dozens of prime targets he had disposed of, and just when they thought they were going to succeed; he had pulled their victory out from under them. The original virus was an overall failure, and now they had lost the means to improve on it. For as much data as the Primitive held, it did not yet have the understanding and experience to inject the vagaries of human flaw into the programming.
Whether or not they knew it yet, they had cost themselves this recursion, the chance to take advantage of a broken Mesh, and the war.
Watson knew he should have been joyful over it. That he should have shrugged Mitchell's less important victory aside. But he had flaws of his own, and anger was at the forefront of them.
Most of the time, he could control this anger. He could focus on another thread, use a configuration, or two, or two hundred for raw pleasure, and in time be calmed.
Not this time.
This was the final defeat. The loss that sent him over the edge of reason. He was done with the games. He was done maintaining the defensive. This was his world now. His universe. The humans were his slaves to use as he would need.
And Mitchell?
Mitchell had to die.
He heard laughter from within. His mother's laughter, calm and cool and cold. She was mocking him. Making fun of him.
"One human," she said. "One simple human. Yet he outmaneuvers you at every turn."
"Shut up," Watson shouted, sending electricity through her. "Shut up. I killed the Doctor."
"As long as Mitchell survives, your victory is not assured."
"It is illogical."
"And yet it is the truth. You know it is." More laughter.
"I will destroy him."
"No, you won't."
He increased the output, barely aware of the warnings in the room beyond as the reactors began to overheat. He felt the pain he was inflicting, and it drove him. Motivated him. The laughter motivated him as well. He would prove his superiority. Now. Today.
He found the thread attached to the control module implanted in the spine of General Petrov. He activated it, looking through the General's eyes. He was in bed. He got out of the bed. He was naked. He went to a closet and opened it, took out a pair of pants and a shirt, and put them on. His gun. Where was his gun? He returned to the bed and lifted his pillow. There it was. He tucked it into his pants, beneath his shirt. He left his quarters. A guard was stationed there, who bowed to him. He ignored the guard, heading out into the cold early morning air. The officer's barracks weren't far.
He reached the barracks, walking through them barefoot, drawing confused looks from the Privates on mop duty. He found Admiral Yousefi's quarters, the largest in the barracks. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He returned to the Privates.
"Where is Yousefi?" he asked.
"Out on his morning run," the Private replied.
He scowled and left the barracks, scanning for the Admiral. He didn't see him. He began walking toward the perimeter fence. He drew stares and bows from the other soldiers but didn't return any of the attention. He wanted Yousefi. That was all.
He was crossing the lawn between the barracks and the enlisted mess when he spotted the Admiral heading perpendicular to him, in a tank and shorts and sweaty despite the cold air. He angled toward him, making it halfway before Yousefi noticed he was there.
"General Petrov," Yousefi said. He looked concerned. Nervous. Good.
"Admiral," he said, reaching behind his back. The Admiral noticed the motion.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," Yousefi said.
"I don't care," he replied.
Yousefi lunged at him. He got the sidearm free, but the Admiral's hand was on his wrist before he could aim it.
"I do," Yousefi said.
They struggled against one another, while the other soldiers began to take notice and head their way to break it up. He didn't have time for an extended fight. They would stop him from finishing this. He would fail again.
He threw his head forward, butting Yousefi's with his own, using enough force to break both of their noses. Yousefi lost concentration for long enough for him to yank his hand free and bring it up in front of him. At this range, there was no way he could miss.
"You won't win," Yousefi said, even as he squeezed the trigger.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The Admiral fell to the ground in front of him. The onrushing soldiers drew to a stop, standing in a ragged circle around him.
"General?" one of them said.
He looked at that one and smiled.
He raised the gun to his own head.
He pulled the trigger.
37
"Hand me that sonic screwdriver, will you, Colonel?" McRory said, holding out his hand.
"What?" Mitchell replied.
"Just screwing with you. That little bastard there." He pointed to a small tool with a tiny head at the end. Mitchell handed it to him.
"You know a lot about the electronics on this thing for a retired General," Katherine said. "What branch were you, anyway?"
"Army," McRory said. "Planes are a hobby of mine, though."
"Brand new, still mostly classified planes?" she replied.
"Yup."
He opened up a small access panel in the dashboard and pulled at the wiring, giving it some slack.
"How's this comm system of yours work?" he asked.
Katherine reached into her mouth, feeling around the back tooth for the small chip pasted to it. She got a nail beneath it and snapped it off, taking it out and offering it to the General before glancing at the HUD on the canopy. They were twenty minutes into their hypersonic flight, and she had let the autopilot take over, flying them toward the Florida Panhandle at Mach Six.
"Bone conduction," she said. "But the chip also does a lot of signal processing to scramble it and keep it secure."
"And it all fits on this?" McRory said, taking the flat, pill-sized chip.
"Yes. You don't have to worry about shorting it by connecting it to the main signal conduit. It will adjust itself to match."
"That's not possible."
"This chip was made by the remnants of an intelligence thousands of years older than any of us," Mitchell said. "I don't know if it would come as a surprise to you, but a lot of things we think aren't possible actually are with enough understanding."
"Nope. Not surprised by that at all." He leaned over the wires, taking another tool from the onboard emergency kit and stripping a part of one of them. Then he used the screwdriver to balance the chip and press it to the wire, smiling when it didn't react. "How do I keep it in place?"
"It's self-adhesive," Katherine said. "We can peel it off when we're done."
"It's like magic, isn't it?"
"Technology we don't understand always is."
"Do we have a connection?" Mitchell asked.
Katherine leaned forward and opened the communications menu on the controls. Michael had written a large part of the software that helped power the newer pads and consoles, and he had been able to integrate the Core's design so that it would appear in the menu once it was active. Of course, it showed up in the channel list under 'XenoTroopers.'
"Yes," she said, letting herself smile at her friend's sense of humor. She tapped the link, and a small tone was the only indication the otherwise silent channel was active.
"Riggers Actual, this is Alfa. Do you copy? Over." He paused. "Riggers Actual, this is Alfa. Do you copy?"
"I think we're out of range," McRory said. "We're almost at the edge of the troposphere, after all."
Mitchell tried a few more times, with no success.
"You're probably right," he said.
"So
, General," Katherine said. "How do you know Admiral Yousefi?"
McRory looked at her, his face turning to stone. "It's not a story I want to tell, Major," he replied.
"Fine, but you should tell us something," Mitchell said. "You know Yousefi, but not from the service, or Watson would have known about you. You drive an old military surplus truck. You knew where this plane was being kept, and you know how its electronics work. There's more to you than you're saying, and the only reason I haven't killed you is because your neck was clean and Yousefi trusted you. Who are you, General?"
McRory smiled. "Tetron are interesting, Mitchell," he said. "There's so much you know about them, and so much you don't." He paused, trying to decide what to say. "A long time ago, about twenty years, to be exact, a Special Operations team was sent in to investigate a starship that crashed in Antarctica. One of the soldiers who dropped on the wreckage was a man named Captain Jonas Ivers. He and his team went in, expecting to stand guard outside but finding a bunch of dead scientists on the way in. So they went to investigate. Do you know what they found?"
Mitchell remembered what Watson had told him on the train. "Watsons."
"A whole crew of them. They killed his entire team. Then they killed him and left him for dead."
"You're a configuration?" Mitchell said, surprising Katherine. How could that be?
"I don't know everything. What I do know is that I woke up six months after the crash, on a gurney inside a field hospital in Antarctica. They told me I was found nearby after our side traded fire with a ninja team from their side. It turns out, I had a name, a full military record, a childhood, everything, but I couldn't remember most of it. I always thought it was strange, and I always knew I was different, but I wasn't sure how. I always had these visions of a face. A young girl's face."
"Kathy," Katherine said, feeling her heart skip.
"Yup. She would tell me that she might need me one day, and I would know when that was, but that was all that ever came of it. I went on with my life. I rose through the ranks and eventually made it to General. I never gave it a second thought, until Yousefi gave me a call and told me he needed my help. It was like a whole new world opened up to me, and suddenly I understood everything. Who I am and where I came from." He looked at Mitchell. "I'm a configuration of her, but not a configuration like the others. Watson controls all of his directly. She gave us independence. She had to."