The Knife's Edge (War Eternal Book 3)

by M. R. Forbes

  "Origin, continue your assessment," Millie said.

  "Of course, Admiral." Origin manipulated the table, zooming out towards the Rim. He paused when he reached a large asteroid on the dark side of an even larger moon. "The coordinates provided by Mr. Tio."

  "I call it Asimov."

  "After the writer?" Watson said.

  Tio smiled. "Yes. Are you familiar? Those are very old texts."

  "Some things never fall out of time."

  "Is the name significant?" Mitchell asked.

  "Asimov wrote about artificial intelligence. Robots. Back before they were even close to becoming reality," Watson said.

  "Three laws," Tio said. "Rules that all machines must follow. A somewhat quaint notion, though not without merit. As a man who has spent a considerable amount of his life studying advanced artificial intelligence, I have an appreciation for Asimov's conceptualization."

  "Even if it didn't make it into the real thing?" Alvarez said.

  "Even so," Tio replied. "Though we have no proof that it didn't. What if the Tetron believe they are protecting us?"

  "By destroying us?" Millie said.

  "Asimov often wrote of the counter-intuitive nature of the laws."

  "I don't think the why is really that important right now," Mitchell said.

  "You don't know why?" Tio asked, looking at Origin.

  "They do not understand. They are incomplete, like children. We have since learned that they are also sick in a way we have yet to discern. That is all I know. The full truth of it was lost on Liberty."

  "I don't believe it was lost," Tio said. "Data is so easy to copy. It's out there somewhere."

  Origin chuckled. "Perhaps. As I was saying, this asteroid is where we will be stopping for reinforcements. Once we have assembled, we will need to begin attacking enemy forces. I have run some calculations to attempt to determine their future position." He waved his hand across the table again. "As you said, Colonel, space is a large place. However, I believe that the Tetron will have stationed a rear guard somewhere around here." A red circle appeared not far from Tio's hideout. "This location is optimal, as it is near to a star with suitable plasma for feeding. The Tetron will want to keep a small force in reserve as a precaution. It is the logical thing to do."

  "How far is that from Asimov?" Long asked.

  "Nine days. We can jump into the area and run a scan. If it is present, with the proper planning, I believe we can take it by surprise."

  "What if it isn't present?" Mitchell asked.

  "Then I recommend moving on."

  Mitchell stared at the table for a minute. He had made the mistake of listening to Origin too quickly before. "I know I was gung-ho about the same idea a minute ago. Now I'm not so sure. Is one Tetron worth the time we're going to lose, even if we can mitigate some of the risks with bigger numbers?"

  "If it has an Alliance battle group with it, it probably is," Millie said. "What we need more than anything is a military. A real military that can take on the Tetron. Tio's forces will help, but it won't be nearly enough. We need to free any assets we can."

  "No," Mitchell said. "You're right. It isn't enough."

  "What do you mean?" Millie asked.

  "Let's say we get the reinforcements. Let's say we find a Tetron, destroy it, and free an Alliance fleet. The enemy will know what we've done. They'll know what we have. Bigger numbers aren't enough of a threat to stop their advance. Not when they have control of both Alliance and Federation militaries."

  "What do you suggest, Colonel?" Tio asked.

  "A different approach." Mitchell put his hand out over the table, moving it the way Origin had. Space flew past until he brought it to a stop. He had studied star maps before. He knew what he was looking for. "Like this one."

  He looked up. The faces that greeted him were flat. Confused.

  "I'm not familiar with that planet," Captain Alvarez said, leaning in.

  "The planet is called Hell," Mitchell said. "It's where the Federation trains its special ops. Not far from the Rim, and strictly off-limits to the Alliance. We aren't supposed to get within a hundred light years of it unless we want to start a war."

  "Mitch, no offense, but I'm not sure what the purpose of going there would be?" Millie said. "That's a Federation planet."

  "Not to mention, the Tetron have probably already hit it and taken everything of value," Long said.

  "Not only am I sure they've hit it, Major," Mitchell said. "I'm counting on it. Our problem right now is that we're racing against an enemy that is faster and stronger than we are. Not only that, they're taking our resources before we can get to them. They aren't going to leave starships just laying around for us to claim, and ground units may come in handy for smaller operations, but they aren't going to get us that far against the bigger threat. I think Liberty proved that."

  He paused waiting for opposition. When none came, he put his eyes on Origin.

  "You used materials taken from Goliath to upgrade my mech before the jump on Liberty. If I get you more materials, you can convert them?"

  "Of course, Colonel."

  He looked at Millie. "Hell's atmosphere is caustic. That's where it gets its name. Well, that and what the soldiers who are sent there are put through. Anyway, it'll eat through anything given enough time. So they keep everything underground. Deep underground, where it may have survived an attack. We won't find any starships there, but I think we will find things that Origin can use to turn into other things. Artillery, mechs, electronics, maybe even some starfighters and a nuke or two. Stuff that's too small for the Tetron to bother with because they know we can't hurt them with sticks and stones. Right now, to steal one of the Major's euphemisms, we're like a pimple on a gorilla's ass. Annoying, but hardly dangerous. More ships just make us more annoying. It doesn't make us more dangerous. We need to be a threat if we want to slow the Tetron's advance. A real threat."

  A smile spread along Millie's face. "I think you're onto something. Origin, what do you think?"

  "Yes. I believe this course is strategically sound. With enough material, I can begin retrofitting the starships that Tio provides with upgraded shields and weaponry. It will improve our odds of both destroying the Tetron and recapturing controlled assets."

  "Which we can use to both bolster our numbers and upgrade our systems, improving our tactical capabilities," Millie said.

  "Making ourselves more dangerous," Mitchell added.

  "That's bound to get the enemy's attention in a big way," Long said. "They're definitely going to want to stop us before we even the odds."

  "We need to be careful," Tio said. "Too much, too soon, and we'll find ourselves surrounded by Tetron before we're ready to confront them."

  "If we do this right that'll be unavoidable. Don't forget that I've never won this war. What this might give us is a chance that we may not have had in any previous timeline. There are still no guarantees."

  Tio didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Very well."

  "Then that's our plan," Millie said. "I never thought I'd say something like this, but once we've assembled our forces on Asimov, let's go to Hell."

  14

  Mitchell rested his head against the rear of his bunk, staring up at the plain gray-blue metal of the bulkhead. He could hear motion beyond the thin privacy hatch at the end of his berth - the crew getting into motion. They were going to arrive at their drop point in the Rim today, an event that all of them were both nervous about and excited for. It meant an end to the general monotony of their days in the empty white expanse and a return to what, exactly?

  War.

  There was no other way to think of it. No other way to address it. When they fell back into the universe, they would do so at near to full alert, with all hands on deck and in their assigned battle stations. Not because they expected a battle, but because they had to be prepared for one, one hundred percent of the time until they could claim victory.

  If they could ever claim victory.

 
The days since they had left Liberty's orbit had passed slowly for Mitchell. Not because there wasn't a lot for him to do, but because the constant motion had left him in constant pain, his wound healing poorly despite the patch that covered it and the medicinal patches he had scavenged. If they had a proper medi-bot on board, he would have been fixed up in a few hours. Instead, the injury was lingering. Not that he showed he was uncomfortable to anyone. Not that he even admitted it to himself most of the time. Only at the end of the day when he finally got off his feet and closed his eyes for a few hours of rest.

  They had done everything they could do in the time leading up to their arrival near Asimov. Mitchell had worked with Sergeant Geren to organize the remaining soldiers into groups and getting them back into physical training, despite their lack of real equipment for them to use. They had been creative in their exercises, often turning to Origin to shift and change the layout of portions of the ship. This had helped them devise an obstacle course of sorts, with pitfalls and traps and a layout that could change as they traversed it.

  Of course, the usefulness of infantry training was limited. They would be ground pounding on Hell, but that was a salvage mission, not combat, and he didn't expect them to confront a Tetron from the surface of a planet again. That didn't mean it couldn't happen, or that they shouldn't be ready for anything, but it did mean diversifying skillsets.

  Fortunately, Origin's suggestion that they begin training without their p-rats turned one liability into some measure of an asset. Mitchell put Captain Alvarez in charge of training and testing the non-pilots on flying a starfighter using manual controls. While all of the infantry had failed the neural testing required to become an official UPA pilot, a few turned out to be fairly adept with the stick.

  It would take weeks to get them fully combat ready, so he enlisted Long to assist Alvarez in getting every available pilot back into the sims. Singh, Tio, and even Watson were recruited to spend time reprogramming the software to account for the Tetron's general tactics, which had taken them by surprise in the past. They ran every exercise using manual controls only, and the first few skirmishes were a complete disaster for their forces. There was nowhere to go but up, and while they were still losing days later, the unit as a whole had improved their survival times by nearly three hundred percent. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

  The rest of his time was taken up on an individual level. He managed to grab meals with Millie from time to time, and often spent the night with her in his bunk, even if they were both too tired for sex by the time they caught up there. He checked in on Jacob every day to see how he was managing, and he took Kathy to the obstacle course and ran flight sims with her when nobody else was around. He couldn't let her fight, despite her obvious agility and training and the fact that she blew all of the trained, seasoned soldiers' performances away. She was still a kid. Only time could change that.

  A firm knock rattled against Mitchell's hatch. He rolled off his mattress and hit the button to open it.

  "Good morning, Colonel. Major Long asked me to see if you were still in your bunk. He has something he wants to show you."

  Mitchell tried to remember the name of the Private standing in front of him. He was one of Long's men, barely older than Jacob, with a fresh face and a narrow frame. He was a communications tech, Mitchell recalled. Or at least, he had been. He was a pilot now, even though his p-rat scores were less than ideal.

  "Thank you, Private-" He paused, waiting.

  "Klein, sir," Klein said. "Abraham Klein."

  "Right. I should remember it."

  "It's been a busy week, sir."

  Mitchell smiled. "Thanks for letting me off the hook. What is it the Major wants me to see?"

  "He told me not to tell you, sir."

  The statement made Mitchell curious. He had spent the better part of the last few days arguing with Long, and he was pretty sure the Major still didn't like him all that much despite what they had been through together on Liberty. Mitchell had been around long enough and had mixed with enough personalities that he could generally get along with anyone. Generally. Long was tough to get a good feel for, with the way he vacillated between by-the-book and Texas cowboy.

  "Am I going to like this surprise, Private?"

  Klein smiled. "I don't know, sir. I think so."

  "Give me two minutes to get dressed."

  "Yes, sir."

  The hatch closed. Mitchell shrugged out of his grays, grabbing a pair of underwear, socks, and black fatigues, along with boots taken from the Valkyrie that were buried at the bottom of his locker. He wasn't going down to Tio's HQ dressed like a pauper.

  His hand brushed the box holding Watson's neural chip as he fished out the footwear. He scowled at it before closing his locker and slipping on the clothes. He opened the hatch.

  "Lead the way, Private Klein."

  Klein seemed slightly nervous guiding him through the corridor to the elevator. It was a reaction Mitchell was more accustomed to from people who had once thought he was some kind of celebrity. Someone more important than a Colonel in the UPA. He wasn't used to carrying enough weight or commanding enough respect to make someone uncomfortable.

  "I heard you'll be dropping today, sir," Klein said as the entered the lift.

  "We'll be bringing back supplies. Food, ammunition, maybe some crew. Anything the Knife can spare."

  "I can't believe we're actually siding with him."

  "War makes strange allies."

  "Yes, sir. Rumor is that the Knife killed the Admiral's mother."

  Mitchell winced at that. He had hoped word of that altercation hadn't gotten around. "You should keep your hearsay to yourself, Private. You don't want Admiral Narayan hearing that you're talking about her behind her back." He held up his hand, mimicking her bionic appendage. "I've seen her bend steel frames with that hand of hers."

  He lowered his eyes to the ground and flushed, embarrassed to have misspoken in his efforts not to seem awkward. "Yes, sir."

  They were silent while the lift finished descending.

  "Be careful how far you trust him," Klein said as the hatch opened and they stepped out.

  Mitchell paused and turned. The Private took a step back. "Who? The Knife?"

  He nodded. "Yes, sir. There are a lot of rumors about him. One that I hear a lot is that he works for the Federation Council. That he's not as estranged as it would seem. I'm sure you've done due diligence, sir, but I didn't think it was right not to say anything."

  "Do you have anything more substantial than rumor?"

  "No, sir."

  Mitchell was silent as he started moving towards the hangar again. The Private's words still hung in the back of his mind, even if he hadn't given them any public credit. He had spent the entire week wondering how far they could trust Liun Tio. M had saved his life, which meant he had to have some kind of value. But was it a clearly defined value? The man had spent his first night on board hacking into some of their systems. He was definitely intelligent, and a cunning strategist.

  They would have to keep their eyes wide open.

  It only took Mitchell a few seconds to spot what Major Long had wanted him to see, and to spot Major Long. He was standing next to what had only days ago been a beat up, barely operational jumpship. Now the starship Christine had gotten them off Liberty in had been pounded out and painted, the scorch marks buffed and some of the freshness restored. The name 'Valkyrie II' was stenciled across the side. A logo he didn't recognize sat above it, a skull in a ring of flames.

  "Impressive work," Mitchell said as he approached it. "What's the logo?"

  Major Long smiled. "Millie and I designed it. The Riggers have never had a symbol before. It's from when we were on Liberty. When your Zombie's head was on fire, and you were still fighting. It's symbolic of how we never give up, no matter how impossible the odds seem."

  Mitchell stared at the design, feeling a sense of pride over its creation. The Riggers deserved the identity as much as any military c
ompany. "It's amazing."

  "We stenciled it to your S-17, too. I hope you don't mind. And take a look at Goliath the next time you go out. It looks really badass at that size." He laughed and held up a hand. "I have another surprise." He reached back behind a strategically placed tool chest, revealing a glass bottle. "Singh gave it to me. Origin gave it to her. It seems there were a few cases on board, brought to celebrate the Goliath's successful maiden voyage."

  "Where's the rest of it?" Mitchell asked.

  "I don't know, and Origin won't say. Anyway, we've cleaned her up nice to take our team down in style. She's got a couple of tricks up her sleeve too, thanks to your Tetron buddy."

  "Tricks?"

  "Some kind of energy weapon enhancement. He said it was crude for a Tetron, but should come in handy if we need it." Long motioned towards the hatch. "We've done some repairs on the inside as well. We're trying to get it up to snuff for the raid on Hell, which means a lot of work on the mech clamps and whatnot. That Alice of yours is something else."

  "I thought you and Grimes-"

  "Once. There's a long, awkward story attached." He laughed. "I have a thing for blondes."

  "Have you talked to her?"

  "Only shop. I hear she's dropping on Hell with us?"

  "Part of Geren's infantry. Yes. She's got top scores in marksmanship."

  "Do you trust the Knife?"

  "I barely trust you, Major."

  "Smart man." He held out the bottle. "I don't trust him either, but I've been hearing nothing about him for the last twenty years except when he kills Alliance troops. To be honest, I'm not that happy we have to work with him."

  "It isn't about being happy." Mitchell took the offered bottle.

  "Yes, sir. It's about keeping our civilization alive." He pointed at the side of the ship. "It's an old custom. You break the bottle on the ship to christen it. It's supposed to be good luck."

  "You wanted me to do it?"

  "Hell, yes, Colonel. Not only are you the top pilot on this tub, but you're also a lucky son of a gun." He laughed again, so relaxed that Mitchell wondered if he had already gotten his hands on a second bottle.