Point of Origin (War Eternal Book 4)

by M. R. Forbes

  Mitchell nodded and picked up the shock stick. They had been in hyperspace for a week now, halfway to the planet Yokohama. So far, the trip had been relatively relaxing. While there was still a lot of repair work going on around them, Mitchell's duties had been lighter than usual. Mainly, he had been reading reports of the different efforts underway by the crew of the Carver and offering advice to the pilots on flying their starfighters manually. He spent the rest of the time in between down in the battleship's gym, either working out his battered muscles to try to get them back into some semblance of shape or working out the members of the crew who would be joining him on Yokohama. While Calvin and Joon had some basic training in hand-to-hand, he was the only Marine among them.

  Aiko had come to him daily for extra tutoring. She had complained about her role in the mission for the first two days, trying to talk her way out of it. Mitchell was gentle but insistent, and after teaching her a few aikido moves he had gotten her confidence up enough that she had stopped mentioning it. He knew she still wanted out. He didn't blame her. He wanted out, too, and he had told her as much. She had made the decision to suck it up and be as prepared as she could, and he respected that.

  He smiled when he remembered how Calvin Hohn remarked that his advanced training in aikido was ironic. "You're a trained killer," Calvin had said. "Yet you've mastered the martial art of peace?"

  "I don't enjoy killing," Mitchell had replied. He had to pause at that point while he considered the Riggers. He had been about to say, "I don't trust anyone who does," but he wasn't sure if that was true. Cormac seemed to like it.

  Aiko was certainly much happier to be learning to disarm and disable rather than destroy. She was a good person. She had a kind heart and a gentle disposition. She was quiet and submissive. There was a part of Mitchell that was drawn towards that. An older version of himself that snuck into his head every once in a while, urging him to try to get her into his bed. He had been with so many strong, confident women lately; it would be a nice change.

  He ignored the voice. He was happy enough to have a thick gel mattress and the sonic shower in Steven's Admiral's suite though he refused to take meals there or be treated as if he were any better than anyone else on the ship; traditions be damned. He ate the same protein and nutrient filled bars that everyone else did. He sat with them and talked and got to know them. He did what he had seen General Cornelius do back on Liberty, and he could feel the response from the crew. They told him how much they admired his brother, and how they were a lot alike.

  Those were the words that changed him.

  That, and Millie. Her absence had left him to realize he cared about her a lot more than he had ever even admitted to himself. It wasn't the same as what he felt for Katherine, nothing could be, but what had started as a shared, lustful passion between them had converted into a form of love at some point. His more mature, experienced brain told him to put primal urges aside and stay focused on the mission.

  Would Aiko have been willing, anyway? He didn't know. She was more innocent, more demure. It made her more attractive. More challenging.

  Mitchell pushed that thought aside. He had been an immature asshole for much of his life. When he thought too much about it, he wondered why Ella had fallen for him the way she had. Was it solely because of his looks? Or had she seen potential there that he had only recently begun to realize?

  And why did it take the possible end of human civilization to bring out the best in him?

  "Colonel?" Aiko said, her voice dragging Mitchell out of his head.

  He smiled at her. "Sorry. You know what, can we pick this up again later? I need to grab a bite and rest my shoulder a bit."

  She looked a little disappointed. "Yes, sir. Do you mind if I join you?"

  "You should hit the shower. You're a sweaty mess."

  She looked down at herself, embarrassed.

  "Don't take that the wrong way," Mitchell said. "So am I. I'm going to go back to my quarters and get cleaned up. I was planning to check in on Digger and Jameson afterward. I can meet you after that?"

  She bowed to him. Not a military bow. A bow of deshi to sensei. "Yes, sir." She smiled at him, her face flushing. "I'll see you then. Thank you, sir." She turned to go.

  "Aiko?" Mitchell said.

  She turned around. "Yes, Colonel?"

  "It's Mitchell or Mitch unless we're on the bridge. You need to get used to calling me by a name other than 'Colonel' or 'sir' before we drop."

  She bowed again, military style this time. "Yes, Mitchell."

  Then she was gone, leaving Mitchell to wonder if he had changed as much as he wanted to believe he had.

  20

  Mitchell made his way from the gym up to Steven's quarters. He was impressed with the suite every time he entered it, from its king-sized gel bed near the rear of the cabin to the office a meeting room on the left, to the large bathroom with both a light shower and an actual soaking tub on the right. The front of the suite was decorated like the living room of a house and had a full bar against the wall.

  The availability of alcohol had been tempting the first time he had entered the room. Now he barely even noticed it. He had never been a big drinker before the Shot. It was the memories that had driven him. The guilt of who he was pretending to be. The Tetron had saved him from that at least.

  He thought about Digger's comments again. That Ella was supposed to be the one to fight the Tetron. He had been angry over it, felt guilty over it. He had opened the bar and lifted a bottle of bourbon to read the label. Then he had put it back. He didn't believe Digger's theory. Not when he pieced everything he had been through together. Maybe it had been right at some point, during one of the recursions. It wasn't right anymore, and here and now was all they had.

  He stripped off his sweaty grays and stepped into the bathroom. He entered the shower and shut his eyes, a soft tone confirming the light had activated. He could feel the slight warmth of it on his naked skin as it descended in a ring from head to foot. A second tone a few seconds later told him it was done.

  He stepped out, relieved himself, and returned to the bedroom, opening the closet and finding a new pair of grays mixed in with Steven's uniforms. He dressed and left the suite, heading down towards the space that Digger and Jameson had set up like a science lab.

  "Colonel," he heard a voice say from behind him as he walked. He had passed a number of the crew of the Carver already, people whose names he had memorized and who all exchanged bows with him as he passed. He wasn't too surprised when he turned around and found Aiko approaching from behind.

  "I thought we were going to meet a little later. You have a communicator, remember?"

  She smiled and looked down, her face turning red. "Yes, sir. I was interested in Digger's progress, and I knew you would be going that way." She trailed off, keeping her eyes downcast.

  He examined her, trying to determine if she was interested in him beyond their formal relationship or if she was simply looking for someone to latch onto for security. Either way, he decided it was better that she trusted him as much as she could. No matter what he showed her in the gym, if they landed on Yokohama, it was his job to keep her alive.

  "Come on," he said, motioning forward with his head. She raised hers and smiled at him.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Mitch," he corrected.

  "But we're in the corridor, in public."

  He smiled. "And we can't risk you calling me 'sir' when we get to Yokohama, so start practicing now."

  "Okay." Her eyes darted back and forth, checking to see if anyone was in earshot. "Mitch," she said softly.

  "Try again, a little louder."

  She wrinkled her face. "Mitch."

  "Better."

  "I'm trying."

  "I know. You're doing great so far."

  That earned him another smile. "Thank you, Mitch," she said at normal volume.

  He laughed. "Perfect. Let's go."

  They continued deeper into the bowels o
f the ship, passing by crews who were working to restore power to one of the projectile defense cannons. A thick bundle of damaged wires rested on the side of the corridor, the engineers working to cut and splice and rejoin into an unbroken whole.

  "Life is like that, isn't it, Mitch?" Aiko said, noticing the wires.

  "How do you mean?"

  "You get hurt. Then you try to cut the hurt away and replace it with something new."

  Was she talking about Millie? Was that a come on, or was he thinking too much of himself again?

  "Is that a suggestion?" he asked.

  She looked at him strangely. Not offended. Confused. "What do you mean, Mitch? I was referring to my arrival on Asimov."

  "Nothing," Mitchell said. Apparently, he was thinking too much of himself. "I don't know if I would make that analogy. Sometimes there isn't enough replacement wire to fix the problem. Sometimes you wind up using whatever you can find to patch the issue."

  "You just said you don't agree with the analogy, and then you extended it quite accurately. Are you teasing me, Mitch?" She was using his name with almost every sentence, getting comfortable with it.

  Mitchell laughed at himself. "Teasing? No."

  "Do you think I'm pretty, Mitch?"

  The question caught him off-guard. He looked at her. "I...uh..."

  It was her turn to laugh. "I can see that you do, Mitch. I can see how you look at me sometimes. I've had men look at me that way before. It's okay. I'm not embarrassed to have someone think I'm pretty. I'm flattered that you do."

  "Yes. I do think you're pretty. I'm not interested in-"

  Aiko put up her hand to stop him. "I don't want there to be any confusion between us, Mitch. I think that if we are going to survive this mission, we need to have clear heads."

  "I agree."

  "I think you're a handsome man, Mitch. I admire you for your strength and courage and leadership. I'm not asking to spend time with you because I want to be with you sexually. What I want is to learn from you. To observe you so that I might learn to have the same strength and courage. I'm afraid of what we are going to do. I'm afraid of what we will have to do. I don't want to be."

  Mitchell stared at her. In making it clear that her interest in him had nothing to do with physical attraction, she had made herself more attractive. Maybe she wasn't strong like Ella or Millie had been, but she wanted to be. He admired and respected her for that.

  "I understand. I want to correct you, though. You should always be afraid. Fear helps you stay alive. The trick is learning to use it, instead of letting it use you."

  She nodded. "Yes, that makes sense, Mitch. I will try."

  "Good. Thank you for clearing things up. It takes guts to be so straightforward."

  "Again, I'm trying."

  "You're doing better with the name thing, too."

  21

  They reached Digger's lab. A handwritten placard taped to the wall next to the hatch read "Dr. Frankenstein's Laboratory. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here."

  "Digger is a strange man," Aiko said.

  "Agreed."

  The hatch opened, and they entered the room. Digger was sitting at a computer terminal reading a screen full of numbers while Jameson was removing a vial of blood from a centrifuge.

  "I didn't know you had a degree in medicine," Mitchell said.

  The mechanic turned around, surprised by their entrance. "Oh. Shit. Hey, Colonel. Jameson's been teaching me to read the results of the blood samples we're taking."

  "You're taking blood samples?" Aiko asked.

  "Only our own right now," Jameson said. "We're going to be taking samples from everyone on the ship, though, so it's good timing on your part."

  "What's the idea?" Mitchell asked.

  Digger turned his chair to face them. He had the beginnings of a beard on his chin, making him look even wilder than usual. "Right now, the best we can do is to collect samples of the crew and run them through the database that we grabbed from Asimov. We'll compare them all to each other and look for any differences, and then try to rule out differences based on human physiology. At that point, we'll see if anything stands out."

  "And if it does?"

  "Of course, that doesn't mean someone is a Tetron," Jameson said. "We'll examine what the difference is and see if it makes sense regarding what we know about ourselves. If it doesn't, we'll try to figure out what the alternative means. Then we'll look for a history of it. If we don't find anything, we'll mark the sample as potential."

  "It's up to you what you want to do with that," Digger said. "But it only matters if we come up with anything."

  "What about drugs?" Mitchell asked.

  "Drugs?"

  "Yeah, like the sleeping pills you gave me. I used one the second day in hyperspace. I know Major Long is on some kind of upper, too. Or at least he was."

  "That's no problem. The database we snagged has all of the known narcotics listed, as well as possible alterations in body chemistry."

  "What about unknown narcotics? Long's concoction was classified by the Alliance."

  Jameson and Digger looked at one another.

  "That may pose a problem," Jameson said.

  "Not in this case," Digger replied. "We already know about Major Long's situation. We can rule him out."

  "What if he's a Tetron?" Jameson asked.

  "If you can't identify someone with one hundred percent certainty, we can't assume they are," Mitchell said. "If you know your history, you know that's a bad idea and the reason I was against this in the first place."

  "Yes, sir," Jameson said. "We'll be as sure as we can before we come to you. We definitely won't cast suspicion on anyone without your order."

  "I don't want you looking at people funny when you cross them in the hallways."

  Digger laughed. "I already do that. I don't think they'll notice the difference."

  "I also don't want you talking about any of this with the rest of the crew. They're bound to come to you to ask about themselves or others, or raise their suspicions based on nothing but their biases."

  "It's all between you and me and Jameson," Digger said. "Well, and Aiko now."

  Aiko held out her arm. "Do you want a sample?"

  Jameson went back to get a fresh vial.

  "Do we have enough of those for the whole crew?" Mitchell asked, pointing at the empty glass cylinder.

  "If the Carver were operating at full strength, no. We have enough for the people currently on board."

  Jameson put the extractor against Aiko's arm. A soft hiss and the vial filled with her blood. He popped it out, capping it and labeling it.

  "What about you, Colonel?" he asked.

  Mitchell stuck out his arm. "How do I know one of you two isn't a Tetron, and this isn't an elaborate setup to get my DNA so you can make a configuration of me?"

  Jameson and Digger both froze, looking at each other.

  "Shit. I never even thought of that," Digger said.

  "Yes. I mean, it is possible," Jameson agreed.

  Mitchell had meant it as a joke. He wiggled his arm. "Just take it. Like I said, we can't walk around worrying about whether someone is a Tetron or not. If we go extinct because we trust one another too much, I can live with that."

  "Or die with that," Aiko said.

  "A more accurate assessment," Mitchel said, speaking like her.

  "Okay," Jameson said. "Don't say you didn't warn yourself."

  He put the extractor against Mitchell's arm. Mitchell didn't feel anything as the blood was pulled out, the vial capped and labeled.

  "We're going to the mess to get some lunch," Mitchell said. "Are you two interested?"

  "Ugh," Digger said. "That shit turns my stomach. I've got my own supply of homemade MREs in my bunk."

  "What about you, Jameson?" Aiko asked.

  "Not right now, thanks. I want to run these samples."

  "Let me know if you find anything strange," Mitchell said.

  "Absolutely."

 
; 22

  Kathy leaned out into the corridor, letting her eyes adjust to the pulsing light of Watson's Secondary. Three days had passed since she had fled the bioscience lab. Three days of running and hiding, of watching her back at every turn, of having no peace from the Tetron's machines.

  She had underestimated the ferocity of his anger.

  He had underestimated her.

  She had managed to avoid the machines most of the time, and defeat them when she was forced to fight back. She had disabled the Riggers that Watson sent for her rather than kill them, though she never saw the same one twice. In the back of her mind, she wondered if the Tetron was terminating them for his failure.

  It wasn't their fault he was no match for her in guerrilla warfare.

  Even so, the three days had left her little peace to finish her work soldering the neural chip. She was still moving around through the belly of the Goliath with her pockets full of equipment and magazines for the rifle, leaving them bulging out and making a clanking noise if she didn't step right. She didn't like traveling that way, but she needed the tools.

  She wasn't sure where she was going. Over the days, she had probably covered two-thirds of the ship, nearly every level from bow to stern, likely close to forty or fifty kilometers worth of corridors in all. She was fortunate she didn't tire, and that her body had taken care of the wound to her leg. She was unfortunate because part of her was still human, and she needed to eat and drink. It had led her to areas of the starship where Watson had laid traps for her, waiting to fulfill those basic requirements. She had been forced to fight for every bar and every water bottle she had claimed.

  She entered the corridor, moving down the side close to the axon and at the same time careful not to touch it. She was near the exact center of the Goliath now, buried deep in the hull. There wasn't much down here. Access tunnels and storage and little else. It was a good hiding place because there would be nothing she needed in this area. It was a bad place to stop for the same reason.

  She reached the end of the corridor, turning left into an adjoining hallway. The axons were here as well, pulsing along the sides of the floor and vanishing through a sealed hole to the level below her. She looked up, finding a ridge in the ceiling where a support beam had been placed. A small ledge was barely visible in the dim, flashing light.