by M. R. Forbes
Not that the Major could read any of the files. At the moment, their two implants were incompatible, the black-market firmware and encryption keys preventing them from sharing notes. That would be the first thing they would need to change before they reached what he was assuming to be Tetron controlled space. It wouldn't work to have the crew of the Valkyrie become enemy drones the second they dropped out of hyperspace.
Shank was leaving the ship at the same time, cleaned and changed into the grays, a laceration on his face stitched instead of mended by the medi-bot. Mitchell paused to wait for him, a second idea sprouting in his mind.
"Colonel," Mitchell said. He pointed at the stitches. "Grimes did that for you already?"
He smiled. "No, sir. I took care of it myself. Carbonate splinter. I was lucky it didn't take my frigging head off." His eyes darkened. "I was luckier than some of the others. I have eight squad mates left. Eight."
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "That's war, right? The only way to be sorry is to pay back with interest. What can I do for you, Captain?"
"This ship. Goliath. I haven't had any time to explore. I'm familiar with the schematics of the original design, and from what I understand a lot of that was left untouched. I want you to go with Singh to assess the condition of the equipment."
"I'm not an engineer, Mitch."
"I know. You're a strong son of a bitch, though, and there may be some blockage or debris that needs to be cleared."
"Roger that."
Mitchell knocked Singh. "Where are you?"
"On board the transport. Origin recommended some equipment that I should salvage before he takes the rest."
"He did?"
"When Millie brought him aboard. I was working on assessing the damage to it, but he thinks it will be better used as scrap. I agree with him. The ship took a pounding. It's a wonder they made it here alive."
"I want you and Shank to go check out the rest of the ship. The crew quarters. We need to get it all ready to be lived in again, and I want you to provide a report at the debriefing. Knock Origin if you need help with the assessment."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll send Shank over to you."
"Okay."
Mitchell glanced at Shank. "Singh is waiting for you in the transport. She's seen the layout. Help her out if she needs any muscle."
"Yes, sir." Shank took two steps, and then leaned in close. "What's the game, Mitch?"
"What do you mean?"
"Our new recruit? This ship? You're playing it all close. You and Millie."
"Why are you a member of the Riggers?" Mitchell asked.
Shank's eyes narrowed. "Aww, come on. You know-"
"I know there's a reason, and whatever it is, it comes down to not liking to play by the rules. Major Long and his crew outnumber us five to one, which means what we know and they don't is the only thing keeping them from forcing the issue. Unless you want to be playing strictly by UPA rules while the enemy tears this universe apart, you'll shut up, stop asking questions, and trust me."
Shank bowed, an action he rarely took on his own. "Yes, sir. I'll pass the word on."
Mitchell continued out to the hangar, returning to where Watson had stationed himself at the base of the ramp. He was sitting now, his eyes downcast, trying to avoid attention.
"Watson." Mitchell knelt next to him.
"Captain. Do you have somewhere I can go? The looks I'm getting from the crew." He shook his head. "After all I did. I saved their lives. Without my machine-"
"Shut up, Corporal. They were nice enough to bring you along instead of leaving you to die on the Schism. I would consider that thanks enough."
Watson stopped talking.
"We need to re-key the implants."
"Which ones?"
"All of them. The encryption may have been compromised."
"What?"
"You heard me. We also need to get the custom firmware onto the ARRs of the rest of the Valkyrie's crew."
Watson cringed. "Captain, the firmware image was lost on the Schism. I can't-"
"I don't want to hear can't, Watson. Especially not from you." While Mitchell was sure Origin could make whatever modifications were needed, he had no intention of giving the intelligence a means to sneak in its own control methods.
"There's only so much I can do without a clean image to modify."
"And you don't have a backup anywhere? I find that hard to believe."
"I did. It was on the Schism."
Mitchell watched the engineer's face. His cheeks were turning red, his eyes swishing back and forth like a fish tail. "Why are you lying to me, Watson?"
"Captain?" His face turned even redder. "I'm not-"
Mitchell reached down and grabbed Watson's arm, pulling him up roughly and bringing their faces close together. "I'm starting to question your usefulness. I told the crew inside that we needed all the warriors we could get. You aren't a fighter, and your past is a massive enough liability already, never mind if Long or his crew catch wind of it. Make yourself valuable, or find yourself expendable."
Watson's lip began to quiver in fear. Mitchell kept his eyes locked on him, calm beneath the angry exterior. Watson would cave. He knew he would.
"Okay. Okay. I have a backup. It isn't complete. It's an older version. I can update the encryption on it. You should know, Captain, it's going to slow the neural processing. It'll cost you in a fight."
"That's not good enough."
"It's the best I can do. I swear. This version is almost a year old. I bumped the algorithms a few times since then. I can try to bring them back from memory."
"Why didn't you keep a backup of a newer version?"
"I didn't have enough storage space. The implant-" He paused, and then bit his lip.
"Implant?" Mitchell tightened his grip on the engineer's arm.
A small whine escaped from Watson's throat. He used his free arm to tap his head. "Secondary implant. Pure storage. It's illegal and untraceable."
Mitchell hadn't known such a thing existed. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Watson responded with a childish smile. "Give me somewhere to work and I'll get a new firmware ready. I'll have to replace yours too in order to change the keys."
"How much time am I going to lose?"
"Estimate? Fifty to a hundred milliseconds."
"That's a lot."
"I know. I'll try. I promise."
Mitchell let Watson go, giving him a small shove away. The engineer was obviously pleased to be released, rubbing at his arm.
"You have three hours," Mitchell said. "Head inside and find Major Long. Introduce yourself and tell him that you need a private berthing on my request."
"Yes, sir."
Watson started to turn to head up the ramp.
"Watson?" Mitchell said.
"Yes, Captain?"
"What else do you have on the storage implant?"
"Excuse me, Captain?" His face started to flush again.
"You didn't get an illegal storage implant to hold p-rat firmware images. What else is on there, that you didn't keep a current version backed up?"
The lip started quivering again.
It was all the answer Mitchell needed. He clenched his teeth against the rising tide of anger. He needed Watson for at least three more hours. Probably more, as much as it disgusted him.
"Make the changes, and then destroy everything else on the implant. Otherwise, I'm going to destroy it myself."
He thought Watson might burst into tears as he bowed slightly and fled into the dropship.
Mitchell closed his eyes and collected himself.
Slow.
Steady.
12
Millie, Mitchell, Singh, Origin and Watson stood near the front row of task stations on the bridge of the Goliath, waiting for Major Long and his officers to arrive.
A small black box rested on the floor ahead of them, the transport's mainframe extracted and brought in as a crude t
ool to perform the needed updates to their implant command and control systems. Cables snaked from it to the station next to them, wires offered to them from somewhere within the Goliath's structure by liquid metal tentacles that dropped through the hole near the command chair. Origin had offered more than just the parts to salvage the transport's computer brain, volunteering to use his core to make the transitions.
Mitchell had declined. He trusted the Tetron only as much as he had to, and in this case he didn't have to.
Origin now looked the part of a raw recruit, having been through the Valkyrie's medi-bot station. His bruises were healed, his body cleaned, his flight suit replaced with standard issue grays. He stood at attention behind Singh, his mouth curled into a smirk that left Mitchell wondering if he truly wanted to save humanity, or if he was just looking for a bit of entertainment.
The thought was cut short by the arrival of Major Long and his officers, Alvarez, and Borov. They stepped out from the lift, each reacting differently to finding themselves thrust into the almost-empty looking space, broken up only by task stations and the command chair. Borov closed his eyes, reaching out as if to steady himself. Alvarez's mouth gaped open as she spun and stared. Long simply glanced from the command chair to the Riggers. If he was suffering from any disorientation, he wasn't about to show it.
"Major Long," Millie said. "Welcome to the bridge."
Long smiled. "Thank you." He left off her rank on purpose. She still had to prove herself. "It's quite an impressive view."
"I thought this would be the best place to meet," Mitchell said. "The Goliath doesn't have conference rooms, and I figured you'd want to see it."
"Neither does the Valkyrie, as I'm sure you're aware. We're meant to make quick trips on her, not plan wars. I appreciate that you allowed us out of the hangar. Some of the crew were starting to whisper that we were prisoners here."
"I'm sorry for that, Major. I only just came aboard Goliath myself. We wanted to make sure the ship was secure before we risked losing any more people."
"Is it?"
"Yes, sir," Mitchell said. "Our engineer, Corporal Singh, and her second, Private Singh, along with Sergeant Wilson, did a reconnaissance of the inhabitable areas. She needs some work, but we should be able to get the entire crew comfortable."
Major Long approached them, passing the command chair before pausing at one of the task stations. There were all kinds of readings and numbers displaying there, floating by at rates too fast to follow. He looked up at Mitchell.
"I think we can cut to the meat of it, Captain. We should settle who's in charge of this ship and her crew. All of her crew."
"I agree," Mitchell said. "There is a complication."
"Complication?"
"The enemy has access to the frequencies and key-codes used to secure the augmented reality receivers, and, as a result, your neural implant. You wanted to know why you couldn't remember anything? That's it, in a nutshell."
"You're saying they did what, exactly?" Alvarez asked. "Mind control?"
Mitchell saw Origin open his mouth to speak. He motioned to stop him. "That's an accurate way to put it."
"Where did they get classified codes?" Borov asked. "For that matter, why didn't this mind control work on you?"
"That's the real question, isn't it?" Millie said. "I'm going to tell you up-front, the answer is going to sound ridiculous."
"But you want us to believe it?" Long said.
"I'm saying that you have to believe it because the enemy is better off if you don't."
"Interesting logic," Alvarez said.
"You need to take into account what you've already seen, and more importantly what you do and don't remember. How many days are you missing? How many hours? Why? How did we find the Goliath? How did we know it was here, and where to look for it, in all of the massive depths of the galaxy? Why is it carrying alien tech, and how come we can control it?"
"And you have all of the answers to these questions?" Borov asked.
"And then some," Millie replied. "Let's get back to the first one. My name is Admiral Mildred Narayan. I am the officer in charge of what the UPA brass calls 'Project Black.' We're a dark ops team. A secret collective of some of the best military specialists in the Alliance, more affectionately known as the Riggers."
"The Riggers?" Long said. "I've seen your crew. No offense, but they don't look like much of a fighting force to me."
Mitchell saw the corner of Millie's lip curl from the comment.
"Because they aren't crisp and clean and standing at attention? Preening like a peacock is second to being the best at your job when you're a Rigger." She forced the curl into a smile. "Our mission protocol demands that we carry custom firmware and custom encryption. That's why the enemy couldn't mind-frig us. That's why we know what's really happening out there, and why we're the only ones who can stop it."
"Corporal Watson is our engineer in charge of maintaining the ARR functionality," Mitchell said. "He's arranged to upload new firmware to each of your implants, to make them immune to enemy control."
Watson stepped forward and tapped on the black box. "We had this set up in medical on the Schism. Our resources are more limited here." He picked up a wire attached to the box that ended in a small, flat, conductive pad that had been rigged from a smaller repulsor. He had outdone himself with that modification. "Normally a bot would transmit into the implant's input port to do the transfer, but it will take hours to reprogram the one on the Valkyrie to complete the procedure."
"Hours that we don't have," Mitchell said.
"You want me to let your engineer do it manually?" Long asked.
"I have steady hands," Watson said. "I'll hold the pad up to your head, near the implant site. It will conduct a small electrical current that the chip will read as binary. It will take about three minutes, and then your p-rat will reboot, and you should be in the secure system."
"Should be?"
"I've only had three hours to piece the system back together. My tests were successful. There's no reason to think that-"
"I'm not about to have my crew subjected to some backwater experiment," Long said. "I'm especially not about to let my crew have an electrical current fed into their brain. I don't know who you people are. Well, I know who he is." He pointed at Mitchell. "Wanted by the Alliance. I'm supposed to trust you?"
"We saved-"
"Our lives," Long said. "Yes, I know. I was there. And I am grateful. At least, I think I am. A lost starship powered by alien technology? Mind control? This? I want to believe you because it's a hell of a lot easier than the alternative. How can I?"
Mitchell stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of Watson. "Because we can't trust that our current keys haven't been compromised by our interaction with the enemy. We need to undergo the procedure too."
He glanced back at Watson, a sliver of doubt trying to worm its way into his mind. He hoped he could trust the engineer not to screw anything up.
Accidentally, or intentionally.
"Do it."
13
The first thing Christine noticed was the smell. It was overpowering, pounds and pounds of cultured meats that had warmed when the power had gone out, filling the former icebox with the stench of decay. She huddled in the darkness, her ear pressed to the door of the freezer, her body shivering from the adrenaline. She could make out the sound of booted feet in the kitchen, hear the rubbing of rifles against wet fatigues and light exoskeletons.
"This way," she heard a soft voice say near the back door. She smiled. They had gone for the deception. She was safe.
And unarmed.
That wouldn't do.
She listened for a moment, capturing the position of each footfall, counting. Four soldiers had come into the restaurant. They were ahead of her now, going for the rear exit. She felt along the door until she found the latch, and slowly pulled it until it clicked open. She paused, listening for motion to suggest the soldiers had heard.
They hadn'
t.
She breathed in, taking a full gulp of air and tensing her muscles before letting it all go. She would need to be quick.
She yanked on the freezer door, throwing it open, squinting in the light created by the soldier's helmet lamps as they turned to track the noise. The close confines of the kitchen made it difficult for them to maneuver.
Not so for someone unencumbered by pounds of equipment.
She leaped at the tail soldier, catching his arms as he spun to confront her, grabbing the length of his rifle and tugging it up. The surprise took away his resistance and allowed her to bring the weapon up and into his nose. It cracked wetly, his head snapping back. Christine jumped backward, rolling behind the counter as the remaining soldiers opened fire into the one she had dropped, the bullets tearing through him at such close range.
She padded silently along the other side of the cabinets, reaching the halfway point and vaulting up, slipping through the center column and into the midst of the middle two soldiers. She grabbed a pot on her way across and slammed it hard into the front soldier's helmet, batting his head aside. Then she turned towards the other and sidestepped, slipping back behind him, grabbing at his helmet, finding the release and removing it. Blonde hair spilled out, and she took it and pulled the woman's hair back, grabbing her side and throwing her into the wall. She bounced off, even as Christine ducked beneath the first soldier, bringing her fist up into his groin, feeling the soft, unarmored flesh give. Under alien control or not, the attack was painful enough to pause him.
She grabbed his gun, turning it and firing, running a line of bullets along the female soldier's midsection. Then she twisted it in her grip, winding the strap, pushing against the soldier until he toppled backward into the lead returning from the alley. They all tumbled out the door together.
The rain brought clarity to her senses, cold pinches on her bare arms keeping her alert. She bounced to her feet, lashing out with a foot and catching the first soldier in the side of the head, finding his rifle on the ground nearby. A gloved fist caught her in the jaw, shaking her up and driving her back. She recovered in time to slip into her opponent's reach, avoiding the rifle fire that followed. She brought her palm up and under the helmet, jabbing fingers into his throat. He gagged and stumbled backward, but Christine pressed the attack, throwing hard punches into his abdomen and keeping him off-balance until he fell to the ground.
