Eternal Return (War Eternal Book 6)

by M. R. Forbes

  "This is Ares," he said when he stepped out onto the top of the building. "I'm almost in position. What's our status?"

  "Ares, this is Peregrine," Katherine said. "I'm in what I think was a department store. I've got line of sight of a good portion of the northwest corner, but I can't cover all of it. No sign of incoming targets."

  "Ares, this is Bulldog. The Southeast corner is clear. I stumbled over a bum on the way, and had to put him out cold."

  Mitchell hadn't been familiar with his teammate's call signs. Peregrine suited Katherine perfectly. Fast and sleek.

  "Copy that. Hold position, maintain silence unless you see something worth talking about. I've got eyes top down and will be scanning the perimeter from up here."

  He reached the edge of the roof and climbed to the ledge to peer over. He could see three of the small drones scanning the buildings below. Were they equipped with heat sensors? IR? There was a benefit to the squatters. They would throw Watson off and make his squad harder to identify directly.

  Mitchell walked along the ledge, unconcerned about the long fall should he slip or misstep. He had been through too much in his life to let a little height frighten him, and he was confident in his own balance. He spent most of the time looking down, scanning the streets for activity, the fading twilight allowing him to keep his p-rat disabled for now. He looked up occasionally, watching for the larger drones or any other incoming craft. For the most part, he figured he would hear them coming long before he saw them.

  He was nearing the northern edge of the structure when he heard the first shout. It came from behind him, from somewhere on the rooftop.

  He jumped from the ledge without hesitation, turning toward the source of the shouting and drawing his gun. He had been so busy looking out that he had never considered checking the inside of the area.

  Nearly a dozen men and women were emerging from behind one of the climate control units. They were disheveled and dirty. They were also armed.

  12

  Watson created a new thread, using it to send a message to the technicians positioned outside of his containment room, ordering them to bring another reactor online immediately.

  He was impressed with what that Primitive had already done, beating him to the Military Satellite Network and adding a new layer of evolving encryption to the control modules before he had been able to get access. It was clear from this reaction that the Primitive knew what he intended to do, and how he intended to do it.

  Such predication might have made him angry, except he knew he would overcome the scheme eventually. It was inevitable. Despite the combined intelligence of the systems composing the Primitive, it was as its name described. It wasn't able to keep pace with the more evolved intelligence.

  He assumed it knew that, as well.

  He felt the shift in power supply as his orders were carried out, the Nova Taurus techs flipping the switch on yet another reactor. They were accustomed to these kinds of requests, sent down from on high for reasons unknown to them. They had been turning on reactors for months, increasing the power output to the facility and at the same time unable to guess where all of it was going. Some had tried, and Watson had been forced to remove them from existence.

  He created ten-thousand threads and set them all to working on the problem. The brute force was equivalent to an exploding supernova; all focused into a directive with the density of a black hole. The Primitive had left him stymied for hours, and it was time for that rebellion to come to an end.

  Energy crackled on the surface of the core in triumph, as the final decryption keys fell into place and the source code opened up to him. Once he had pierced the armor, it was trivial to reach the heart. Within seconds, he had programmed the satellites to fire their positioning thrusters and update their axis, shifting to face the Earth. Then he activated every sensor they contained, while at the same time cutting off the signals that would report their every movement back. He didn't need the humans recognizing the takeover. It was better to let them think their individual systems were all on the fritz.

  Some of the sensors were useful for this type of surveillance. Others weren't useful at all. It didn't matter. It was nothing for him to filter the wheat from the chaff, to keep the data he could use and abandon the rest. As long as the Primitive was still drawing power to feed its operation, he would be able to triangulate its position.

  He monitored another thread, checking on the progress of the Blackrock squads that had been dispatched to deal with Mitchell. He didn't have any configurations or slaves in the group, and as a result, couldn't control them directly. Even so, he was able to tap into their communication systems, going so far as to pick up the feeds from their helmet-mounted tactical network. The soldiers he had assembled had come together with the ease of a well-greased machine, merging at a company airfield in Cambodia and quickly getting underway. Though they were assembled from disparate groups, they had already developed easy friendships through the anecdotal remembrances of past service.

  They were nearing the target area, their twin Hornets moving smoothly across the Jakarta skyline. Watson had already sent the requisite communications to the local government, going so far as to request evac from the nearby area. Not that he cared for bystander casualties, but it was important to keep up appearances.

  Another thread picked up signs of life on the rooftop of one of the buildings, and he moved his main thread to it, another ripple of energy crossing his surface as one of his drones identified Mitchell. And what was that? Was he being held at gunpoint by a band of vagrants? The energy crackled as he laughed, observing both the image from the drone and the approach of the Blackrock units.

  He tore himself away from the scene as he tracked another thread. It was parsing the data coming back from the satellites and had made an identification with ninety-eight percent certainty. He quickly switched to a live view of the area, zooming the nearest satellites' optics in on the location. At first, he saw only a thick growth of trees along a relatively flat portion of a hilltop. Greater magnification revealed a small clearing in the trees, and zooming in further showed him the outline of a small, sloped roof.

  The building seemed too small to contain the Primitive, but the energy signature was unmistakable. The engine! It was absorbing the power from it. The core rumbled as Watson cursed. That was his engine. His power. For his Tetron.

  He scanned the Nova Taurus and Blackrock databases, calculating his available resources. There was nothing worthwhile in Seattle. A number of security guards but little else. Tacoma and Portland were also out of the question. Chicago, on the other hand. He had a development facility in Chicago. He checked the status of the project. Six units were completed. Perfect. Blackrock had an airfield in Illinois as well. Even more perfect. It would take time to deliver the units to the mercenaries, and time for the mercenaries to take to the skies. Would he make it in time?

  Calculations suggested that he would. The Primitive was using the engine, creating a clear beacon for him to follow even though it knew he was searching for it. The only reason it would do such a thing was if it deemed some other task more important than trying to hide from him.

  What task could that be? He believed he knew, and the idea of it brought him intense joy. The Primitive was still a step behind, even with the delay his efforts to solve Origin's equation had caused.

  He had to be sure. He created a few threads to estimate the answer. Even that was a contingency. If all went according to plan, he would have the Primitive in his grasp within the next two hours. He would overpower its merged consciousness and gain the answer directly from the source.

  He sent the directives out, making certain to assign a configuration to travel with the units. He considered returning to Origin then to gloat and mock but decided against it. Instead, he returned his main thread's attention to the video feed from the drone. He wanted to see the look on Mitchell's face when the Blackrock forces arrived.

  13

  "Kamu siapa," one o
f them said. "Apa yang Anda lakukan di gedung kami."

  He was carrying what looked like one of the heavier rifles Mitchell had noticed the police holding when he had gone through the barricade. Mitchell had no idea what the man was saying, but he didn't sound happy, and regardless of the language the noise was bound to attract the attention of the drones.

  "Meletakkan pistol, sekarang," the man shouted. The entire group was moving closer, emboldened by their strength in numbers.

  Mitchell still didn't know what he was saying, but he wanted the man to be quiet. In all likelihood, he needed to stop appearing threatening. He moved slowly, lowering his gun to the ground, putting it there and backing up the few steps he had to the building's edge.

  The man smiled, and a second man moved forward and grabbed the gun, his eyes staying locked on Mitchell's the entire time.

  "Kamu pergi," he said, waving his rifle. "Kamu pergi."

  "Do you speak English?" Mitchell asked.

  The man stared at him, his brow creasing.

  "English?" Mitchell repeated, trying to look back over his shoulder. He could hear a soft whine in the distance. It fit in with the noises of the city beyond, but he didn't like the sound of it.

  "Ares, this is Peregrine," Katherine said. "A few police vans just stopped near the perimeter. It looks like they may be preparing to push people away from the zone."

  "I've got the same thing on my side," Trevor said. "Aren't you seeing this, Ares?"

  Mitchell stared at the vagrant, who was staring back at him. If law enforcement was moving people out of the area, it meant the fire teams were going to be coming in soon, and that Watson had arranged for them to have access with the government's blessing.

  It also meant these people were about to be in a lot of trouble, and they had no idea.

  "Ares, you copy?" Katherine said. "Ares, come in."

  "English?" Mitchell asked one more time.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, activating the p-rat. Immediately, he began receiving information about the hostiles in front of him, including distance and more accurate numbers and threat levels based on overall firepower. He felt the synthetics being dumped into his system once more, preparing him for a confrontation against difficult odds. If this were a mission with Greylock Company, he would be wearing powered armor that would make a group like this barely a threat at all.

  "I speak English," one of the vagrants said. A younger female moved up behind the leader. "He says you go. Get off our roof."

  The whine was growing louder, and now he noticed another coming from the opposite side. Two? Watson wasn't taking any chances.

  "You need to get off the roof, now, or you're all going to die," Mitchell said.

  The girl smiled. "Are you crazy man? We have guns. This our home. We don't want hurt you. Just go."

  "Ares?" Katherine said again, her voice worried.

  "This is Ares," Mitchell said softly into the mic. "I'm having a little interaction with the locals. I can hear ships incoming. Keep your eyes and ears open. We need to know where they land."

  "Roger. Do you need backup?"

  "No, but be ready to move."

  "Affirmative."

  "Who are you talking to?" the girl asked.

  "Look, it isn't safe for you up here," Mitchell said. "There are soldiers coming to clear this entire area, and everyone in it."

  "Soldiers?" She turned to the leader. "Dia mengatakan ada tentara datang."

  Their leader's face soured, and he said something to her that Mitchell couldn't hear.

  "He said you try to play games. You go now, or he shoots."

  Mitchell could tell by the sound of the engines that the incoming forces were almost there. He was going to have to do something aggressive. The leader seemed to sense his frustration, because he raised the rifle, aiming it more seriously and putting his finger on the trigger.

  Then one of the small drones cleared the top of the building, its red beam sweeping across the gathered vagrants and causing them to flinch.

  Mitchell didn't hesitate, taking two quick steps and then tackling the leader, batting the rifle aside and cracking him hard across the jaw. He cried out and then lay still as Mitchell put a hand around his small neck. He used his other hand to grab the rifle, pointing it at the rest of the enclave before they could recover from their surprise.

  The drone remained hovering ahead of them, though the red beam shut off. Mitchell let go of the man and stood, aiming the rifle and hitting the machine with a single shot. A series of sparks flew from it at the impact point, and then it sank and vanished.

  Not that it mattered. The first of the incoming craft swept around one of the massive skyscrapers, moving in toward their position. The drone had more than enough time to identify Mitchell, and Watson had more than enough time to direct the forces toward him.

  The incoming ship was sharply angled, its exterior designed to avoid radar detection, the plates along its hull like scales of a dragon, intended to confuse ground-based lidar. Two massive rotors extended from either side, angled for forward flight though currently shifting to slow the craft. Beside the rotors sat a pair of heavy guns mounted on ball turrets that began swinging his direction as he watched.

  "Shit," Mitchell said, as the turrets bloomed with the light of muzzle flashes.

  The rooftop exploded in chunks of concrete, the bullets chewing their way toward the group. Mitchell grabbed the girl by the arm, tugging her back, managing to get her behind the climate control unit as the gunship's fire tore into it, the bullets creating a mixed din of rending metal and screams. Only two of the other vagrants managed to escape the maelstrom, and they cried and stared at Mitchell as though it were all his fault.

  He supposed it was, though these people weren't supposed to be up here.

  "Tell them to stay hidden," Mitchell said, checking the rifle he had claimed.

  He had one magazine, and according to the display, it only had fifteen rounds in it. This was going to be fun.

  "This is Ares. I'm taking fire. Gunship." He checked his p-rat. The database had identified it as a Hornet, capable of carrying a complement of two squads inside its armored belly. "Hornet class."

  The whine of the craft's engines crew as it circled the building, trying to get an angle on Mitchell's hiding spot. He wasn't even approaching safe being on the roof.

  "This is Bulldog," Trevor said. "I've got eyes on a second Hornet. She's coming in low."

  "Bulldog, stay hidden, don't lose her," Mitchell said.

  "Affirmative."

  A fresh round of heavy gunfire began pouring into the rooftop, slamming the climate control unit and turning it to shreds. Debris began peeling off it in the form of hot, sharp metal slag that rained back into the space where they were hiding. One of the vagrants began to scream as a piece of it lodged into his eye.

  "We can't stay here," Mitchell said to the girl.

  He looked over at her. She was frozen with fear, a line of urine running down her pants and pooling at her feet. He tried to tug her again, but she didn't move.

  As much as he hated it, there was nothing he could do for her. He ran from behind the cover, skirting the edge of the building and heading back for the stairs. The whine of the gunship's rotors was nearly deafening as it hovered fifty meters behind him. He could imagine the turret shifting to track him, ready to cut him down from behind.

  He reached the stairwell, tugging open the door and throwing himself inside, letting himself tumble down the stairs as the heavy guns began to scream once more, ripping a hole through the concrete and pummeling the wall above him. He forced himself back up, the synthetics giving him extra strength and endurance as he continued to descend.

  "This is Ares, I'm clear of the rooftop and headed down. Peregrine, what's your position?"

  "I'm tracking back your direction, Ares. My nest is clear."

  "Roger. Bulldog?"

  "Still following the Hornet. She dropped two blocks away. It looks like a Blackrock logo on th
e tail. Mercenaries. She's shitting out a full complement. Two squads of special forces in full battle armor."

  "Powered?" Mitchell asked.

  "Negative. Ballistic with fully networked tactical. If one sees us, they all see us."

  "Wonderful. Can we even penetrate with our pop guns?"

  Trevor laughed. "Not likely, sir. We're going to need a higher caliber."

  Mitchell glanced at the rifle he had taken. "I've got a police issue NX-20. Will that do?"

  "Where'd you get that? Yeah, it should as long as you're close enough."

  "Roger. Stay out of sight, keep your eye on the bird. Peregrine, meet up with Bulldog. That's our target."

  "What about you, Ares?" Trevor asked.

  "What about me?"

  "You've already been painted. The squads are all heading your way."

  Mitchell looked up as he heard thumps coming from the rooftop above. It was the sound of the second team dropping onto the rooftop to chase him down.

  "Get me my Hornet," he said. "I can take care of myself."

  Sixteen to one. The odds were terrible.

  The crazy thing was, he had survived much worse.

  14

  Mitchell abandoned the stairwell when he heard the first of the Blackrock mercenaries move in, shoving his shoulder into a door that had spent the last two years rusted closed. It made a louder bang than he wanted when it slammed into the wall behind it, and he cursed the synthetics for pushing his adrenaline maybe a little bit too high.

  The stairwell led out into a corridor, and he quickly spotted the eastern lift shafts directly ahead of him, his neural interface enhancing his sight through a series of algorithms intended to take what he could see and interpolate it into nearly crisp vision. It was a trick a civilian p-rat didn't have. Even most military versions of the system couldn't handle the sharpness he was getting, but then there was a reason he had been assigned as a Marine jock who was then assigned to Greylock Company. He was certain the incoming soldiers would have night vision goggles. Would they expect him to as well?