Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1) (18 page)

He only came around to the idea that he wasn't alone when something pounded at the exterior of the cockpit's clear carbonate shell, and he opened his eyes to see a woman in a spacesuit waving at him.

He was still for a moment and then waved back. He could see her face behind the tinted faceplate of her helmet. It was a little pudgy, with a short nose and big lips. Her smile was warm enough. She raised her hand in a thumbs-up sign. He mimicked it, and then clenched his fist to his chest to signal that he was low on air. Her smile vanished, and she motioned away, turning and firing her thrusters.
 

Mitchell tracked her through the helmet, only then noticing that a ship had arrived and that there were three people tethered to it, moving about around him. Was it a miracle, or had the AI somehow known that another ship was coming to this spot? How could it?

He smiled at the realization. Because it had already happened. Except when these people, whoever they were, had arrived the first time there had been only the planetoid. Now they had found a ship, found him, and all of the future surrounding them had changed again.

It was a heavy thought. Did M know he might run into trouble? Had he arranged for the ship's AI to understand such fine details of his history? Either way, he was thankful.
 

The fighter turned slightly when tow lines were magnetically sealed to it, the cockpit swinging around and giving him a better view of his rescuers' vessel. It was a salvage ship, a rectangular block with an ugly profile - low-slung thrusters, a bulbous bridge, and all kinds of drilling and cutting equipment hanging from the sides like parasites.

The fighter swung again, tilting to become level with the ship. He couldn't feel the motion of being reeled in, but he could tell the salvager was drawing closer. He turned his head as far as he could, looking up and back until he could see the three people, each holding a line, and the light of the hanger above them. He kept his eyes on them while he was brought inside, the hanger doors closed, and the artificial gravity was activated and he was lowered to the deck.
 

The woman who had knocked on the glass stood in front of the fighter, holding her hand up, telling him to wait for the room to pressurize and fill with air.

He took the time to look around. The hanger was not quite what he expected. For one, it was clean. There was no sign of the stores of salvaged metals and materials common to ships like this one, held in large nets to keep it contained during zero-g.
 

For another, there was already a second fighter sitting in the corner, an older model Pirahna, along with a mech. They had a mech? It was a Knight, another older design, sixty tons, with a head shaped like a medieval Earth helmet. It was painted black, and the faceplate had a large, gruesome smile stenciled onto it.

They also had an orbital transport - a means to travel from the ship to atmosphere and to tow their salvage hauls to waiting collection vessels. It was the newest piece of machinery of the bunch, its alloy shell reflective in the bright lights of the hanger.
 

Mitchell turned his attention back to the woman. She raised her hand and tapped her helmet, and then pulled it off.

He had been right, she was a little pudgy, with small eyes and wild brown hair. She was joined by the other two crew members a moment later - an older man with a mohawk and a scar near his left eye, and a younger guy with red hair. They kept their eyes glued to him as he toggled the cockpit open and got to his feet. Blood began flowing through his legs once more, and he shook them out before extending the small lifters from the nose of the fighter.

"What the-" he heard the younger man say, at the sight of the ladder. The other two remained silent.

Mitchell climbed down, still wearing the helmet. The moment he reached the floor of the hanger, he found a gun pointing at his face.

"Take it off," the older man said. "Now."

"He smells like piss," the woman said, her Russian accent heavy in her words.

Mitchell put his hands up, moving them slowly towards the helmet. The gun stayed on his face while he took hold of the sides and lifted it off. The moment it left his head the cockpit of the fighter slid closed again, and the whole thing shut down.

"Who are you?" the man said.
 

"Not a threat," Mitchell replied.

"Hey, I know that guy," the younger one said. "I seen him on the streams." He came towards Mitchell, stopping a couple of feet away and examining his face. "Sure, you do smell ripe. You're him though, aren't you? Captain Mitchell Williams, the hero of the Battle for Liberty."

"Yes. I am. Thank you for the pick-up."

The older man kept staring at him. "You're sure you know this guy, Cormac?"

"Yes, sir. I know a face when I see one." Cormac put out his hand. "Good to meet you, Captain. My name is Cormac, Cormac Shen." His smile was large and crooked. "I can't believe I'm touching a celebrity, especially one who met Tamara King, Bethany Daniels, Lin Xiang. You didn't get to do any of them, did you?"

"Cormac," the woman said, smacking him on the shoulder.

Mitchell took his hand, ignoring his question. "Mitchell. You can call me Mitch." He looked over at the older man. "I'm really not a threat. I'm not even armed." He had left his AZ-9 back in the hanger. He was going to miss that gun.

The man was still hesitant.

"Come on, Anderson," the woman said. "Cool it with the firearms."

Anderson lowered the gun.

"My name is Ilanka. They also call me Rain."

"Rain?" Mitchell asked.

"I rain hell," she said with a smile, motioning towards the mech in the corner.
 

"You're a pilot?"

She turned and spread her hair, showing him the CAP-NN link. "Alliance Navy. Former."

"What about you, Cormac? Are you a pilot?"

"No sir. Army. Former."

"You're all ex-military?"

"Enough with the questions," Anderson said, finally walking over to him. "We need to bring him to Millie."

"You're definitely military," Mitchell said. "Marine. I can tell by the way you walk."

Anderson glared at him but didn't speak.
 

"Come on, Mitch," Ilanka said. "He's right, we need to bring you up to the Captain."

"I don't suppose I could get cleaned up first?" he asked.

She laughed. "How long were you in that thing, anyway?"

"And how did you get out here, in a starfighter of all things?" Cormac said.

"Rain, Cormac, stow it," Anderson said. "You can tell your story to Millie. You can get cleaned up, after she decides whether or not to kill you."

Killed him? Not because of what had happened on Liberty. There was no way this group could know about that... yet. "Whatever you say. You saved my life."

"We wanted that fighter of yours. I was kind of disappointed when we discovered you weren't dead. Let's go." Anderson raised the gun again, using it to point him in the direction of the airlock.

"Stop being an asshole, Anderson," Ilanka said. "He's not even armed."

"He's in the middle of nowhere in a damn starfighter. You two may think you can trust him because he's a hero or something. Whatever. I don't, and I won't until Millie does. Since I outrank both of you, you can either shut the hell up or stay here."

"You don't outrank me, Anderson," Ilanka said.

"I have seniority on this ship, that's good enough. I repeat - shut up or get lost."

"I'm not missing this," Cormac said.
 

Mitchell followed behind Anderson, with Ilanka and Cormac trailing him. The older Marine led them out of the airlock and into a long, narrow corridor. The smell of synthetic lubricants and burning was thick in the air, and the normally whisper-quiet pulsing of the main reactor vibrated along the walls and floor, leaving a constant buzzing in his ears.

They didn't cross paths with any of the other crew on the way, though they did pass one hatch that was open a couple of inches at the bottom. Mitchell thought he saw the shadow of a face kneeling against the crack, watching them go by. Either the ship was running a skeleton crew, or none of the other workers wanted to get involved with this business.

They reached the end of the corridor. A hatch opened to a lift, and they stepped in. Anderson continued to keep the gun leveled at Mitchell, and he stared at him as if daring him to try something. Mitchell had come across his type before. Guys like that were usually only tough until the trouble started and things got intense.

Mitchell thought about trying to make small talk during the ride up but decided against it. He had a feeling it would only result in another threat from Anderson, or maybe the man would stick his pistol up his nose. There was no point in starting trouble.

The lift stopped and the hatch opened, leading directly out onto the bridge. It was a cluttered, dirty affair, the screens marred with dust and grease, and food trays stacked on one of the consoles. A pile of dirty clothes lay in the corner, and Mitchell noticed with surprise that the clear carbonate that protected them from the vacuum of space had a noticeable crack in it.

There was a captain's chair in the center of the bridge, a ratty thing with wires hanging off the back and tears in the surface that allowed the gel innards to ooze out. A narrow, female hand with long fingers tapped a rhythmic cadence on one of the arms.
 

Millie waited until Anderson was standing right behind the chair before getting to her feet.
 

She was younger than Mitchell expected. She was also prettier than he expected. Not gorgeous, not a Tamara King type, but possessing a simple, natural beauty that was teased out even more by the contrast of her appearance against that of the ship.

She was wearing an Alliance Navy uniform, freshly cleaned and pressed, crisp and tucked in all the proper places. Her face was cool and neutral, her blue eyes curious, her auburn hair wrapped in a bun and tucked under a perfectly shaped cap. Her nails were manicured, painted, and flawless, as was her posture.

"Lieutenant Anderson," she said. The Lieutenant stood at attention, having lowered the weapon in the Captain's presence. "I see you brought me a gift."

Cormac started to giggle, until Millie's eyes found him.

"Captain Mitchell Williams, ma'am," Mitchell said. "Thank you for hauling me in."

She gave the slightest nod. She either hadn't noticed his smell or was doing a great job of ignoring it. "Captain Mildred Narayan. No offense, Captain, but we thought we were hauling in a derelict S-17 that had been floating through space for entirely too long. That is, after we thought we would be mining ore from the rock below us. Your rescue is a fortunate coincidence for you."

"Very fortunate."

"Tell me, Captain. How did you wind up out in the middle of nowhere in an S-17? If I remember correctly, that particular fighter has a twenty-hour air supply on board."

"Twenty-eight if you breathe slowly enough," Mitchell said. "I was in hyperspace. Headed for the Rim."

He heard Ilanka gasp behind him.
 

"An experimental fighter?" Millie asked.

"I don't know."

She started tapping her fingers on the back of the chair. "Captain, I don't want to sound crass, but your situation at the moment is very tentative. You see, that S-17 of yours is valuable to us. More so if it's experimental, or if it's been modified in any way. The problem is, we can't claim it as salvage as long as someone was found inside it, still breathing." She glanced at Anderson. "Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Mitchell said. "You can have the ship if you promise to take me to the Rim." Or at least he would let her think she could have the ship, and buy himself some time.

"Why do you want to get to the Rim so badly?" she asked.

"I'm trying to get away."

"From what? You're the most famous soldier in the galaxy."

He was surprised. He hadn't thought she knew who he was. "Exactly." He paused, trying to decide what to say next. "And you're not a soldier at all anymore, are you? Not to be out here, mining ore from planetoids. I mean, you're dressing the part but-"

Cormac coughed behind him. Millie's face was turning red, her jaw tight with anger. Her fingers stopped tapping, her hand clenching the back of the chair instead. Mitchell noticed that her fingers sank right through it, past the cushioning to the metal frame.
 

"That's none of your concern. Let's be clear, Mitchell. I have the power. I have the control. You tell me what I want to know, and maybe I won't throw you out of the airlock."

He had touched a nerve, telling her they weren't military. There was something strange about this Captain and her ship. He glanced back at Ilanka and Cormac. He might get those two to talk to him if he survived long enough.

"I didn't take the Shot Heard 'Round the Universe," he said. "The brass propped me up to help rally the Alliance and boost recruitment efforts. They wanted to create a celebrity of their own, a superstar that would make war look glamorous. The media found out about the lie, and now they're pinning the whole thing on me. They have orders to kill me on sight."

"What?" Cormac said.

"You didn't take the Shot?" Ilanka added.

Mitchell stared at Millie. "No. I'm not a hero. It was my wingmate, Ella, who sacrificed herself to destroy the Federation dreadnought. The Alliance made me take credit for it."
 

The color had drained from her face, leaving it a porcelain white. She kept staring at him, leaving a thick silence hanging in the air. He waited for her to speak. To order him to the airlock, or to ask Anderson to shoot him and be done with it. He wondered if he should have been so honest. She would have heard eventually, and if he lied and they kept him around... then what?
 

"I need to get to the Rim, Captain," he said. "I need to get away from the Alliance. To disappear. I'll do whatever it takes to get there. You want the ship, it's yours. It's fair payment. Nobody needs to know you ever saw me."