by M. R. Forbes
"What?" Tio looked at the bundle of smaller tendrils, so dense he imagined there had to be a million kilometers of strands tucked inside.
"The energy you see driving out of the core is going to be used first to destroy Asimov, and then destroy Mitchell. The war will be over in this timeline, and perhaps all timelines, unless you stop it."
"How can I stop it?"
"This is why you're here, Tio," Kathy said. "Mitchell could never do this on his own. He needs your help. You need to forget about your dreams and your schemes. You need to forget about your past. Everything happens in this moment, and only this moment. Every decision is for now. Nothing is certain beyond. We've overcome the Mesh. Now you need to be the hero that no one will ever know about."
Tio looked at her. She hardly looked like a child in the glow of the Tetron's pooling energy. Who was she? What was she? A Tetron of some kind, that much was without question. Another configuration of Origin? He turned his attention to the core. He had seen the true Origin save Mitchell on Liberty. The girl was right, he knew what he had to do.
Then why wasn't he doing it?
He closed his eyes, his own pain escaping in the form of a low moan. He couldn't believe it had come to this. All of these years, all of his plans, all of his sacrifices, and it had led to this.
"It isn't fair," he said. "It just isn't fair."
"Are you going to let them die?" Kathy asked, angry.
"It isn't fair."
"Frig fair, you coward. Who the hell said life was ever fair?"
Tio closed his eyes, feeling the tears running from them. All he ever wanted was to be heard. To be right.
He realized then that he had never changed. In all of the years, he was still the same person he had been when he started at Hirakasa. He was still the same idiot who wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone else, and he wanted them all to know it, too.
He raised his hands, extending the knives from his wrists. Then he turned, plunging them into the core.
The pain began anew as Tio intercepted the pulse of instructions flowing through the Tetron's brain. It was beyond overwhelming, the current so intense that he felt as though he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to concentrate, slowing the pipe from the knives to his own implant, taking in the Tetron's source and reducing it from a river to a stream. He wasn't a Tetron. He knew he wouldn't have the power to overcome the intelligence indefinitely.
He reached out into the Tetron's systems, his mind racing through the instructions, scanning the code in his subconscious faster than he ever could with his eyes. He knew what he was looking for, and he navigated the routes, slipping from routine to routine, from one instruction to the next.
Watson fought back. He felt a charge enter his body through the implant, causing his physical form to convulse and sputter once more. He wasn't a Tetron, and so it couldn't fight him the same way it would its brethren. He gritted through the pain, accustomed to it after the days of torture. He dove deeper into its structure, noticing the beauty of the design but not pausing to admire it.
"Hurry," he heard Kathy say.
Yes, he could tell what the Tetron was going to do. The plasma stream was building, aimed at Asimov.
He couldn't power it down, that much was clear. It was too late for that. He had waited too long. There was one thing he could do. One chance to take. He made his way through the logic, the architecture familiar to him. He had created something like it so long ago, something so simple he had joked with Pulin about it.
Was this his brother's work? Or his own?
He found what he was looking for. Watson pushed harder, sending so much voltage through his physical form that he could smell his own cooking flesh. He had seconds at most.
It was all he needed.
He entered the coordinates, redirecting the power flow away from the bow of the ship, rerouting it to serve a different purpose, directing the Goliath to hyperspace and locking the commands in. Then he added a layer of encryption on top of it, using a high-bit key that would take Watson days or longer to break.
He had done it. He had actually done it. He had saved them all. He let out a short cry of victory as he felt the tug of the Goliath entering hyperspace.
It was the last thing he felt.
68
Mitchell guided the S-17 into Asimov's inner docks. He could see the control tower ahead of him, the clear carbonate panes splattered with blood, a solitary figure working the controls. He recognized him by his height and narrow build.
Digger.
The mechanic flashed a few of the docking lights at him, and the smaller secondary hangar began to slide open beneath the starship docking arms. Mitchell redirected the S-17 downward, squeezing through while it was still opening, and bringing the starfighter to rest on a smaller set of clamps on the floor. The inner half of the tower was visible from there, and he could see the carbonate had been taped over to keep it from leaking atmosphere. Digger had moved to watch him enter and clamp him down.
The hangar doors slid closed, and the air was jetted back in.
"Where are you?" Mitchell asked, the cockpit opening above him. He kept the helmet on in order to communicate with Millie.
"Operations," Millie said. Her voice sounded dry and weak. "Digger will bring you down."
"No. Digger needs to stay put. Steven will be coming over in one of the Carver's dropships, and Germaine will be bringing the Avalon in. Millie, are you okay?"
"I'm good enough," she said. "Tired. It's been a long week. Did you say Steven? As in, your brother? He's here?"
"It's a long story. I'll let him tell you all about it later."
"Mitch, we can't stay on Asimov. It isn't safe here."
"It's safe enough for now. We destroyed the Tetron, and the Goliath is gone. I don't know what happened on that ship, but it was about to fire on you, I swear. The next thing I know, the plasma spike flattened, and the ship went to hyperspace."
Millie laughed. "Tio."
"What?"
"The Knife. Watson took him. He brought him on board the Goliath. He must have figured out a way to stop him."
Mitchell made his way across the hangar, still wearing the helmet. "I don't think stop is the right word. Goliath is gone."
"Either way, he found a way to save his people."
Mitchell left the hangar. The corridor was dimly lit by emergency lighting. He wanted to be happy that they had survived, and that Millie had survived. He was happy for that.
Except they had lost Origin and the Goliath. They had failed. Again.
They had left the remains of Liberty with three potential plans to drawing the Tetron away from Earth. Steven had failed to warn the Alliance because Alliance Command was already compromised. He had succeeded on Hell, but their salvage was worthless without the Tetron to convert it to something more useful. And Tio's plan to find his brother? Tio was gone, and he had likely taken their chances of locating Pulin with him.
What the frig were they supposed to do now?
Slow. Steady.
He tried to remember, to even out his breathing and calm himself. Calm was hard to come by. He had never won this war, and he could see why. Since he had discovered the Goliath, the Tetron had beat them at every turn. First Liberty, and now this.
How were they supposed to come out ahead when they were always one step behind?
"I'm on the lift," he said to Millie. "I'll be there soon. I'm going to take this thing off and get some fresh air."
"Roger," Millie replied.
He entered the lift, finally removing the helmet, cradling it under his arm while he leaned his head against the back of the transport. He still had the coordinates to who knew what that Origin had stashed away for him who knew how long ago. And Katherine had told him in the Construct that he had broken the Mesh and changed things so radically that he had a chance, a real chance of winning.
He couldn't keep himself from laughing sardonically at that.
He certainly didn't feel like
he was winning.
He was still alive though. So was Millie. So was Steven. If he had to settle for something, he supposed he could settle for that, at least for now. He had promised himself he wouldn't give up, not after Liberty. He would keep fighting with every breath he took, until he couldn't take another.
He didn't know how to live with himself any other way.
The lift opened, depositing him in the corridor leading to Operations. He felt lighter with each step he took, his moment of despair fading the closer he moved to Millie.
He had said he loved her when he thought she was going to die. Did he? Love was a tricky thing, a word to describe something that for most intents was indescribable. He cared about her like he cared about no one else he had ever met. He cared for her more than he had cared for Elle, and he had told her that he had loved her too.
Still, in his heart he knew that what he felt for both of them paled in comparison for the way Katherine Asher made him feel. The passion, the desire, the knowing closeness. It had been only a representation of her that had driven his senses wild. Why? Why was he so enamored of her? How could he say that he truly loved her above all others, even though they had never truly met?
It was crazy. He knew it was crazy. At least it was honest, and when the time came, he would tell Millie the same thing. He knew she would accept that. She wasn't some jealous girlfriend. She was the commander of the Riggers.
He reached the end of the hallway. The hatch slid open.
There was a crowd of Tio's people standing a few meters away, surrounding someone on the floor. Most of them were techs in simple uniforms, though he noticed one larger man carrying a rifle. He had to be a soldier. All of Operations was in disarray, a mess of blown out systems and hastily rigged wires.
One of the heads turned as he entered. A woman with a face he didn't recognize, who he thought might have been Millie from behind.
"Colonel Williams," she said, recognizing him somehow. "Oh Colonel, I'm sorry."
Mitchell's eyes shifted from her to the person on the floor. His heart began to pound when he realized it was Millie.
"No," he said, dropping the helmet and running towards them.
The techs moved aside, giving him room to kneel beside her. She was wearing a pair of navy blue fatigues. A dark stain of blood had spread along her abdomen.
"Millie," he said, putting his hand on her neck and feeling for a pulse. "Millie!"
He felt the weak flow of blood beneath her fingers. She was still alive.
"Get a doctor in here," he shouted.
"Colonel, we can't," the soldier replied. "Our doctors are dead. All of them."
"What? What the frig happened in here?"
"Death, Colonel. The Tetron, it attacked us. She was shot days ago, but she said it wasn't serious. She put a patch over it and got us organized. She helped us fight back, and we were able to get back into Operations and stop the data upload before it finished. Digger said the Tetron would have wiped everything on this side once it was done. We didn't think she was that bad, the way she kept fighting."
"Tio has a medi-bot," Mitchell said. "An advanced medi-bot."
"Destroyed," the soldier said. "I'm sorry."
Mitchell leaned over Millie. "Come on, Admiral. Please. The war isn't over yet, and I need your help. You can't die on me. Not here, not now, not like this. You can't leave me thinking I'm going to lose you a third time. In case you didn't catch it before, I love you." He looked up at the techs. "There has to be something you can do?"
They looked stricken. Each of them. They were engineers and programmers. They didn't know anything about gunshot wounds. They only knew to be sorry.
"Don't you dare die on me, damn it," he said, leaning over and whispering in her ear. "Open your eyes."
A soft breath of air escaped from Millie's mouth, brushing his cheek.
The pulse stopped beneath his fingers.
Mitchell clenched his eyes closed, fighting back the flood of emotion. He slammed his hands on the floor, cursing. Then he leaned back and stared at her. She looked calm and peaceful, satisfied that her final mission was a success.
He took a few long breaths, feeling the cold chill wash over him. The techs stood around him, but they didn't look his way. They stared at their arms, or gazed off in another direction. Not the soldier. His eyes were fixed on Millie, his head bowed and his hand on his heart in a show of respect.
Mitchell rose slowly to his feet, keeping his eyes on Millie's body, burning the image of it into his mind to file away with the image of Liberty destroyed.
He was going to find the Goliath.
He was going to find Watson.
He was going to take the fat, whiney Tetron bastard by the neck and squeeze until his beady, sick eyes popped away from his greasy face.
Then he was going to kill the rest of them, whatever it took.
Millie had asked him to give them hell.
He would find a way to oblige.
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