Point of Origin (War Eternal Book 4) (27 page)

"Of course, Colonel. And you, Aiko?"

"Clothes would be nice," she said, looking down at herself. The sleeve of the jacket was torn, and the shirt had someone's blood on it. It was probably Calvin's.

"It will be done."

Ming reached out and took Seung's hand, leading her gently from the transport. Mitchell watched the interaction. Were they husband and wife or father and daughter? He couldn't tell. Either way the girl was one of the best flyers he had ever seen.

He helped Aiko down the ramp to the hangar floor, and then across to the hatch. They exited out into the main backbone of the Kemushi, taking it towards the front of the vessel and up a lift to berthing.

"I don't know how you do it," Aiko said as they walked.

"Do what?"

"Watch your friends die. Deal with the loss. Kill other people, knowing that they were also important to someone."

Mitchell had heard the question before, more times than he could count. As the Hero of the Battle for Liberty, he had been bombarded with a similar curiosity by rich politicos throughout the Delta Quadrant. He had a canned answer for them, and part of it was even true. Except Aiko wasn't them. She had just been there and gone through it. She was looking for answers to her internal doubts.

"Do you know why I became a soldier?" he said after a few seconds had passed in silence.

"No."

"I lost a bet with Steven. It seems stupid when I think about my career the way you laid it out."

"I'm sorry, Mitch. I didn't mean-"

"No. Don't be sorry. That's what war is. That's the absolute hardest part of it. I didn't get that when I joined. I thought being a soldier was all adventure. Pilot a mech, fly a starfighter, go to other planets. It was exciting. Even Bootcamp didn't wean me off that single-minded belief. I watched one of my squadmates take a bullet to the head during a live-fire exercise. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone die. I tried to get drunk that night, but they put inhibitors in us that filtered out the excess. I fell asleep with the image of him on the ground, a single small entry wound in his forehead. When I woke up the next morning I thought, 'I'm not going to be the idiot who gets shot in the head.' And then I was ready for more."

"Mitchell," Aiko said, trying to interrupt.

"The point is that I handled it. Maybe it's something wrong with me. Maybe it's something that's wired into all people who become soldiers. I don't know. I don't think so. I think it hurts every damn time someone near me dies. I think it's just happened so often that I have no choice but to convince myself that I'm numb to it. Ella, Ilanka, Shank, Millie, Calvin. Those are just a handful out of millions. I feel it, Aiko. I feel it deep down, a constant gnawing in my soul. It hurts like hell, but I have no choice other than to keep going. If I don't, more people I care about will die. And that's the answer. That's how you do it. You remember the people who you lost. You keep them in here. Then you go out and do your job because you know what that hurt feels like, and you want as few of the people you're fighting for to feel that same hurt as possible. It becomes the mission. The creed. The entire point of your existence. It drives you to be better even while it tears you apart from the inside. If you're strong, you learn to live with it. If you're weak, it will eat at you until you go insane. I've seen that happen, too. You just need to decide which kind of person you are."

Mitchell stopped talking, realizing that his eyes had glazed over with tears. Aiko was looking at him, her eyes as moist as his.

"Sorry," he said as they reached the door to Aiko's room. "I didn't mean to go off like that. It's been a long day."

"It has," Aiko agreed.
 

She paused, still staring at him. Mitchell wondered if she was trying to decide whether or not to invite him in.

"Thanks," she said at last. "That helps."

"I'm glad."

She put her hand on the wall, opening her door. "I'll see you when we drop."

"Sure."

Mitchell retreated to his room, his thoughts chaotic. No one had ever been intended to live the whirlwind life he had been living since M had showed up. No one had ever been intended to watch so many people die.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't let the Tetron break him or his spirit, and he had done a good job holding to that agreement. Liberty had tested his mettle, pushing him to the extreme, and he had survived. Hell had been difficult, but that had been a direct firefight where casualties were to be expected. Millie? She had died a hero and saved the lives of thousands. Even though he missed her, he couldn't find fault in a death like that.

Then why did he feel so lousy?

He made his way over to the bathroom, stripping his dirty clothes and letting the lightbox burn him clean. He checked himself for wounds, noting a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing critical. When someone knocked on his door, he used his shirt to cover himself and accepted the offered grays, slipping into them before settling on the bed.

It was like he had told Aiko. If you were a soldier, you learned to handle the loss. In some ways, you even came to expect it. Greylock had lost over fifty members in the time he had been with the company, and never in a peaceful way. That didn't mean it didn't hurt. It meant the hurt got buried down deep and used as fuel to train harder and be better. Maybe then you could save the next poor soul who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had opened up to Aiko, and in doing so had opened up the gates to those emotions. He sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning over with his chin resting in his hand. He closed his eyes and tried to bury it once more.

War was hell. War was loss. The strong protect the weak. Thoughts of the dead cycled through his mind for a while, their names, and faces, their laughter and anger repeating over and over. He began to see Katherine in them as they did. She had made a similar sacrifice, giving up her life to bring Goliath to him.

And he had lost Goliath.

He opened his eyes, slamming his fist down on the bed. Goliath was in Watson's hands, and the Tetron turncoat had used the ship to come to Yokohama and almost steal the data chip away from him. They had expected once Watson got the Goliath stopped and turned around it wouldn't take long for him to find the nearest Black Hole, which of course was the same Black Hole they had targeted. They had just been hoping he would have been slower.

Mitchell shook his head. Had Watson already been waiting on the planet when they had arrived? It would have been trivial for the Tetron to seize control of one of the Federation's orbital defense ships and have it bring him down to the surface. Even without the capabilities of a full Tetron, the engineer was more than capable of improvising to control local forces.
 

If he had been waiting, then why? It didn't make sense that the Tetron would think Mitchell would be more able to steal the data then he was. Or did it? Mitchell had survived the assassination attempt on Liberty. He had survived the planet's death. He had escaped from Hell with the prize.

Steven. Mitchell's thoughts veered away from Watson to his brother. He was out there, determined to discover what Origin had left for them. The jump point had been three weeks out. That meant he had yet to arrive. Mitchell wondered what he would find when he did. Would it help them fight the Tetron? Would it help him against Watson? Could he recover the Goliath that way?

Goliath. So much trouble was taken to get him to the ancient starship so that he could discover Origin and fight back against the Tetron invasion. How did it work out that he was forced to fight on without her? Could he hope to win this way? And why hadn't the starship come to Yokohama with the other Tetron? Had Watson been concerned he might lose the ship if he brought it too close? Was there any way in hell that Mitchell could get the ship back? Maybe with Pulin's help.

Pulin. Liun Tio's brother was out there, hidden away on a Federation planet, working on some kind of secret research project. Did he know what was happening in the universe outside of his lab? Was he really the Creator? And if he was, did he have any capability to stop what was happening? Along the same lines, since he had escaped with the data chip from the Black Hole, was it possible they had outmaneuvered Watson and left him unable to follow? Or had they simply bought themselves more time? If Pulin was the Creator and could affect the Tetron in some way, did it make sense to wait for Watson to arrive and make a play for the Goliath?
 

And what about Earth? The Tetron would be arriving at the inner part of the Alpha Quadrant within weeks, ready and able to lay waste to humankind's home world. Was it possible that Pulin could stop it or would billions more, including his parents and Steven's family, because of the intelligence?

The thoughts swirled through Mitchell's head, twisting and contorting from one to another in a dizzying dance of uncertainty and threatened hope. So many questions and so few answers. They had suffered loss after loss, and Mitchell had soldiered on, forcing himself to stay hopeful.
 

Why was it that when they had finally won a battle was when he felt that hope was slipping away?

He laid back on the bed. He couldn't give up. Too many people depended on him. He had said that to Aiko, too. The strong kept going, kept fighting, so the weak didn't have to.

He had to be strong.
 

Slow.

Steady.

"Colonel on the bridge," Lewis said as Mitchell gained the bridge of the Carver. The six people who manned the stations on the bridge turned in their seats and stood.

"At ease," Mitchell said, returning them to their stations. "Status report, Lieutenant Lewis."

"We've continued working to repair the shields and gun batteries while you've been gone, sir. We've got two more of the heavy railguns operational. They weren't damaged in the fighting, but the electrical nodes to route power to them were shorted out. We've also improved shield coverage across the lower port side."

"All that in a little over a day? Impressive."

"We borrowed some crew from a few of Mr. Tio's ships, sir, and Digger is a genius with electrical systems."

Mitchell knew the mechanic's capabilities from experience. "Excellent news."

"Will we be under way soon?" Lieutenant Atakan said.

"As soon as Aiko and her team have deciphered the data chip we recovered from the Black Hole. It should be any minute now."

The three hours on board the Kemushi had passed quickly. Mitchell had fallen asleep in the middle of his dark thoughts, waking refreshed and more motivated than ever to win this war. He had met Aiko and Joon in the hangar and then boarded the Haizi for the return trip to the Carver. From there he had gone with Aiko to the battleship's makeshift Intelligence Operations Center and spent a little while watching her and her team begin breaking down the security on the data chip they had recovered. A few hours into the session he had decided he would be more useful making an appearance on the bridge, and so he had gone back to his quarters to change into a slightly more formal Navy working uniform. He would have preferred Marine, but the Carver didn't have them.

Now he mounted the platform that put the command chair above the task stations and sat down, gazing out into space through the viewport. Distant stars were barely visible past the density of the fleet arranged around the battleship, an impressive sight that he hoped would make retrieving Pulin from wherever he was a little bit easier.

He settled into the chair, closing his eyes and trying to imagine himself issuing commands to the bridge crew. Running a battleship was enough work through the CAP-N where the Commanding Officer could handle eighty-percent of the heavy lifting with the help of the onboard AI. Running a battleship under manual control was much, much harder than that. The crew had to manage everything from thrust to navigation, to maneuvering, to weapon systems, while the CO had to issue orders at various times for each. He would also be responsible for keeping track of shield status, damage reports, and up to ten squadrons of starfighters, not to mention a fleet of other starships.