by M. R. Forbes
"Us?" Mitchell said. Katherine could tell he was as nervously excited as she was. "How many of you are there?"
"Dozens?" McRory said. "Hundreds? I'm not sure. The Core knew Admiral Yousefi and his history during the war. It knew where he was stationed, and they made sure to put us in his path. It was always intended that he would help you, and as such it was intended that we would help him. We were also intended to remain behind when the Goliath departs, to ensure the destruction of the Watsons."
"Kathy never told us," Katherine said.
"They don't know themselves," McRory said. "Like I said, I didn't until a few hours ago."
"You're handling it well," Mitchell said.
"It's what I'm here for, Colonel. We don't share the same weaknesses as the infected Tetron configurations." He shrugged. "We're closer to being human, though, so we have weaknesses of our own." His eyes sunk, and he looked down at the floor. "I fell in love. I lost her during the war. I can't get over it. Not completely."
"Why didn't you tell us all of this before?" Mitchell asked.
"We have to be very cautious, Colonel. Every action. Every word. Does knowing this change my role in any way?"
Mitchell shook his head. "No. I see your point. Although, it does give me a little more hope, knowing that we have more allies out there than we thought. Do you know if Kathy has a way to call in the cavalry, so to speak?"
"I don't know, Colonel. You'll have to ask her yourself."
"Believe me; I intend to."
38
Captain Verma set the Schism down beside a large barn adjacent to a large, three-story farmhouse somewhere in the middle of Kentucky. It was a place that was all but meaningless to most people, other than as the source of some of the finest bourbon currently coming out of the state. It was a place that Watson would never identify as having any value to the Riggers, or as a location for them to go and lick their wounds.
As the VTOL came to rest on the grass in front of the barn, the door to the farmhouse opened, and a man and woman appeared, heading right toward the craft while the hatch in the side was still opening. They were older, and wearing simple clothes, jeans and cotton shirts, and carrying military rifles.
"Where are we?" Michael asked, looking over her shoulders at the two people. "Do you know them?"
"You could say that," Kathy said. "Wait here for a minute."
She stepped out of the craft and dropped to the ground. The two people kept their rifles up and ready to use.
"Johanson. Kerr. Stand down."
The two weapons dropped to their sides as the configurations had that part of their memories unlocked for the first time since they were produced, but Kathy still remembered when she had found them. Both had been Marines, stationed at one of the outposts along the fringe of the crash site, with orders to intercept the fast-strike teams the opposition would drop close to the XENO-1 in an effort to infiltrate the wreck and grab as much as they could. They had died defending the crashed starship from the would-be thieves, their corpses laying dormant in the snow, their retrieval made difficult by an oncoming blizzard.
She had risked a trip to the surface to find them. It was one of the last times she had done so. She had taken them in and given them over to the Core for processing, where they had been reconfigured. Then she had delivered them back to the surface. There they would have stumbled into the nearest base, escaping from the storm, fully whole but not having remembered encountering the enemy.
It was a process she had repeated a number of times. The years of fighting had provided plenty of resources for configuration, and production of an identical shell and transfer of the pre-existing cerebrum had made reintegration into human society a simple task, albeit a somewhat morbid one by human terms. The soldiers were who they were before, but with a little extra something, a secret sauce, that they carried with them unknowing until it was switched on.
Johanson and Kerr had been medically discharged, and soon after fell in love, got married, and moved here to start a distillery. It seemed like fate to them, but Kathy and the Core had arranged most of it, implanting the desire to be someplace out of the way. They weren't the only configurations scattered around the world, but they were the closest.
She wished she would never have had to meet them. Even when they had made the configurations, she had wanted nothing more than to allow them to live their lives unaware of what they were. She had been in their position once, as a child who didn't know her true parents. Innocent and happy. While she accepted her role, she still missed her life before the end of Liberty often enough that she never wanted to do the same to anyone else.
Unfortunately, their recent failures had made it unavoidable.
"Kathy," the female, Johanson, said. She made a face that was slightly confused, and slightly annoyed. "What are you doing here?"
"I need you to open the doors to the barn so we can get the Schism inside before Watson spots it," she replied.
"I've got it," Kerr said, running over to the barn. He entered through an access door, and a moment later the two larger doors swung open.
Kathy turned back to the Schism and waved to Verma, who flashed her a thumbs up and then began to maneuver the craft into the space.
"Things aren't going well, are they?" Johanson said.
"Not at all," she replied.
"Are your people hungry?"
"Not yet. We have a few dead to bury." She said it matter-of-factly, even though she felt the sting of it inside. It was her fault they were dead.
Johanson pointed. "You can put them back behind the distillery. Kerr will help you dig."
"I will take care of the excavation," the Core said, joining them from the barn. Johanson's face changed again at the sight of the Primitive.
"You blocked this part of my memories."
She didn't say it accusingly. She was trying to make sense of it all.
"Yes."
"And Kerr?"
"Yes. We needed you. There is a great deal at stake."
"I understand."
Kathy smiled. In many respects, Johanson and Kerr were both copies of her. Of course, they understood. She turned to the Core.
"You need to go inside and reduce your power consumption to a minimum. Otherwise, you'll stick out like a sore thumb out here."
"As you say."
The Core headed for the farmhouse. Kathy returned to the Schism, with Johanson trailing her.
"Who are they?" Michael asked as they entered.
"Friends," Kathy replied. "Relax, we can trust them."
"How do you know?"
"I made them."
Michael's face paled, and he eyed the two people with a higher level of interest. "Made?"
"Watson isn't the only one who can do it. Help me carry Max, will you?"
Michael paled further as he looked over at the body bag holding the Corporal. "Uh. Okay."
"Lyle, Verma, can you take Damon? Johanson, Kerr, Doctor Frelmund."
The configurations lifted the bag holding the Doctor. Kathy could feel the tension in the air. Or maybe it was only her own. The scene was a visceral reminder of her failure.
They carried the bodies out to the back of the distillery. Kerr went and fetched two shovels, and they took turns digging. Two hours later, the three Riggers were put to rest. Lyle said a few words about Max and Damon, quoted from the Bible and promised to avenge them. The others did the same.
"Have you thought about what I said?" Lyle asked as they all headed back to the house.
"About the plan?" Kathy said.
"Yeah."
"I have."
"And?"
"You're just waiting for me to tell you that you're right."
"Yeah."
She smiled. "You're right. So is Mitchell. We can still do this."
"Damn right we can."
39
"Is it still functional?" Kathy asked.
The Core held up the small control module they had retrieved from Sergeant Damon's back.
"Yes."
"Can Watson track us with it?" Michael said.
"No. It requires a biological interface to supply power."
"Can we track Watson with it?" Kathy asked.
"Not in its current state. Again, it requires a biological interface."
"You're saying that if we can use it to track him, he can use it to track us?"
"Potentially."
"You didn't mention that earlier."
"It is of secondary importance, Michael," the Core said. "If we wish to pinpoint the source of the commands, we must make the requisite modifications to the control module and implant it into a host."
"Meaning we can't find Watson without making someone one of his slaves?" Lyle said.
"Correct."
"Lovely."
They were inside the farmhouse, crowded into the wine cellar, where the cool temperature and distance underground would help disguise the Core's heat signature and allow it to operate a little closer to normal capacity. As it had informed Kathy, it was currently at forty percent of optimal supply. It was a handicap they didn't really need, but also one they couldn't avoid.
"If that's what we have to do then that's what we'll do," she said. "Johanson or Kerr can handle the job."
"That is not recommended," the Core said. "The connection will allow full access to the brain. Vision, memories, everything. What the configurations know, Watson would know."
If the two configurations were out, that left Verma, Lyle, and Michael as the only possible volunteers. She wasn't going to ask them to do it. They would need to volunteer.
"I'll do it," Verma said before she had finished the thought. "I've got nothing to hide."
"No," Lyle said. "We need you to fly the Schism. I'll do it. My dirty laundry isn't that dirty, and none of it will help Watson."
Kathy looked at Michael. His face was red, and he seemed embarrassed to not have volunteered first. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
"It's okay, Michael. I wouldn't let you do it anyway. We need you to help program the interface, and then to pinpoint the source." She turned her attention to Lyle. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Whatever the Riggers need, I'm in."
"Thank you. What do you require to make the modifications?"
"A computer terminal interface, so that I may work with Michael directly," the Core said. "Other than that, only time."
"How much time?"
"It is unclear. A few hours at a minimum."
"Johanson, can you please provide the terminal?"
"Of course," she replied. "Lawrence, can you help me?"
"Always," Kerr said.
The two configurations left the cellar. She could hear their feet on the floor above them a moment later.
"It doesn't hurt, right?" Lyle asked.
"It could," the Core replied. "Watson would have control over all of your faculties. Even if you are aware, he could make you gouge your own eyes out and you would not be able to resist."
"Oh. I think I heard Verma volunteer a minute ago."
"I changed my mind," the pilot said.
"What? You can't change your mind."
"Already done."
"Don't worry, Lyle," Kathy said. "We'll keep you restrained. He won't be able to hurt you or us. The most he can do is make you say things that would embarrass your mother."
Lyle laughed. "There's nothing that can embarrass my mother."
"Then there's nothing to worry about."
"HQ, this is Alfa. Can you hear me? Over."
Mitchell's voice resonated in her ear, so loudly that she almost jumped. Michael was surprised enough that he did.
"Alfa, this is HQ," she said, unable to restrain her smile. "I'm really happy to hear from you. Is Mother with you?"
"Affirmative," Mitchell said. "I'm happy to hear from you, too. I've been worried about you. What's your status?"
"It's a long story," Kathy said. "Alfa. Father. I." She paused, feeling tears suddenly springing to her eyes.
"Kathy? What is it?" Mitchell replied gently.
"I'm sorry. I screwed up. The query completed, and we had the target on the Schism. Watson. He got to Sergeant Damon. I didn't check her. I didn't make sure." She clenched her jaw, trying not to break down. She was a warrior, not a child, though at the moment she felt more like the latter.
"We'll handle it," Mitchell said without missing a beat. "Send me your coordinates so we can arrange a rendezvous."
"Yes, sir. The coordinates are as follows. Thirty-seven degrees, thirty-eight minutes, four seconds north. Eighty-four degrees, fifty-four minutes, eighteen seconds west."
Mitchell repeated the coordinates. "We'll be there as soon as we can. We have to find somewhere to leave our ride first. Somewhere that won't lead Watson right to you."
"Affirmative." She paused. "You should know, Max is dead."
"Understood," Mitchell replied, remaining calm. "We lost Trevor, too."
"Damn it," Kathy said. "How is Mother handling it?"
"Pretty well, all things considered. He saved our asses. So did someone else we met on the way. You might know him? His name is McRory. At least, it is now. It used to be Ivars."
"I know him," Kathy said. "Though it has been a long time."
"Do you have any other secrets I should know about?"
"No, sir."
"I'm not sure I believe you, but okay. We should be at your location within the hour. By the way, have you tried to reach Admiral Yousefi? I've been knocking his channel, but I can't get a reply,"
"I haven't tried. We only arrived a couple of hours ago."
"It's not like him to be so hard to reach," Mitchell said.
"I'm sure he probably got tied up in a staff meeting or something," Kathy said.
She looked up as Kerr returned, a tablet in his hands. He looked unsettled.
"Alfa, please standby," she said. "Kerr, what is it?"
He shifted his grip on the tablet, pointing it toward her. What she saw made her gasp.
"Alfa,we have a problem."
40
"There's the farm," Mitchell said, pointing through the canopy of the Screamer. It was little more than a few specks of white against a brown and green backdrop at this altitude, but his p-rat assured him that it was the right place. "I hope that road can handle this thing."
Katherine grunted in reply. Her attention was focused on landing the jet on a runway that was no runway at all.
"Let's just hope nobody decides to go shopping in the next few minutes," McRory said.
Their plans had changed abruptly with the news Kathy had delivered, described first from the public stream and corroborated against military channels. Admiral Yousefi was dead, killed by General Petrov in an inexplicable murder-suicide. That was bad enough, but it wasn't the end of it. Rogue soldiers and law enforcement agents had started acting up across the globe, attacking their comrades, civilians, anyone they could get near in the name of the AIT. It was a sudden flare of violent chaos that had left them with no immediately clear direction.
Watson had woken his sleepers and was using them to commit mass murder. The question was, why? It went against everything they had believed about the intelligence and his motives. It went against all sound reason and logic. The Tetron had always been a little unstable. His penchant for sex and violence had proven that. But something had also held him in check and kept him focused on his ultimate goal of enslaving humankind and rebuilding the Tetron race.
What had happened to change that?
"Better buckle in," Katherine said. "I'm not sure how well this is going to work. One big pot-hole and we're going to be in deep shit."
"We're already in deep shit," Mitchell said, checking his belt. McRory moved back to the passenger area and took a seat.
There were other problems with Watson's sudden change of direction. The fate of the Goliath was the biggest one, and it loomed over Mitchell's head like an endless thundercloud. If the Tetron had decided the starship'
s commander was no longer necessary, did he feel the same way about the starship? If he had decided to destroy humankind here and now, there was no reason to leave the Goliath intact.
Except as bait.
"Is that it, you son of a bitch?" Mitchell whispered.
For all of Watson's talk of the Tetron ability to be patient, had he completely lost his? Had he moved to force them into action, to accelerate their plans by months?
It didn't make sense. Why go through the trouble of killing Doctor Frelmund if he didn't intend to give him time to create the virus anyway? No. It didn't fit. What was happening now seemed more like a temper tantrum than a calculated maneuver.
The Tetron was throwing a fit. He knew Watson well enough to know it was possible.
"What did you say?" Katherine asked.
"I called Watson a son of a bitch. I think this is all because I didn't die in Japan."
"That's ridiculous. He would be risking everything."
"Origin always called him a child. For as procedurally intelligent as he is, doesn't this seem to be the reaction of a child?"
"You may be right. We can discuss it with Kathy and the others when we touch down."
The Screamer had circled the farm, heading out a dozen kilometers and then vectoring back around, losing altitude the entire time. Mitchell could see the road clearly now. It was three meters across at best, with a sparse column of trees on either side.
"Are we going to clear those?" he asked.
"I hope so," she replied.
It wasn't the answer he was hoping for.
"Here we go."
The nose dipped a little further as Katherine subtracted more height and pressed the button to extend the stubby landing gear. She pressed a few more controls, and the craft slowed even more, beginning to shudder as it tried to decide whether or not it had enough lift. She was pushing the envelope of its capabilities to use as little of the road as possible.