Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1) (2 page)

He started to lean back in the chair, fighting to keep the tide in his stomach in check. He paused when Tamara put her hand on top of his, suggesting he should stay close.

"Do you have plans after the show?" she asked.

It only took a thought for him to access the p-rat and pull up his itinerary. He almost laughed at the idea of it. Two months ago he was only free when he wasn't making drops into hot zones or escorting VIPs with the rest of his squad from the Greylock. Now? He hadn't been in a cockpit in weeks, and the only training he did consisted of acting and etiquette lessons. If he wasn't on camera or shaking hands somewhere, he had nothing but free time.

"I'll be on Liberty another two days, and then they're shipping me off to..." He scrolled through the list behind his eye. "...Cestus for a recruitment drive. After that-"

"I said after the show, Captain," Tamara said. "Immediately after." She stroked the back of his hand. "I've never been with a celebrity Space Marine. You can consider it a thank you for your service to our planet."

Mitchell bit his lip, and then smiled. He'd always thought of himself as a somewhat handsome man. Six feet tall, in good shape, a nice face, and hazel eyes. He had the outgoing personality to go with it, and his job as a Space Marine pilot only added to his attractiveness to the opposite sex.

After the brass had propped him up over the Shot... The rise in that attractiveness, and the resulting attention, was ridiculous.

"I'm free right after the show. What did you have in mind?"

They were interrupted by a stage hand. Tamara leaned back in her chair and sat stone-faced while he worked on removing some of the growing sheen from her face. The streams were filtered to help make the people displayed on them look better than they did in real life, but it was apparent Miss King didn't like the idea of appearing less than perfect to her audience.

"How are you holding up, Captain?"
 

Corporal Evan Kwon sidled up to him, wearing the crisp, dark blue uniform of the Alliance Space Marines. He was half-Korean, short and thin, well-spoken and well-groomed. He looked like an officer, and he had a lot of decorations on his chest, but they didn't mean much of anything. He was Public Relations. Mitchell's handler.
 

"I'm fine," Mitchell said, his eyes tracking over to Tamara. He would be even better after the charade was over.
 

"Hey, I was thinking maybe we could swing by this place downtown after this. It's really popular with the student population, and it might be good to get in there, shake some hands, transmit some-" He noticed Mitchell wasn't paying attention to him and stopped talking. He stood silent for a moment before knocking on Mitchell's p-rat. "This again?" he asked once Mitchell answered.

"It's not my fault. You know women have a thing for Marines to begin with, especially pilots. Even our fellow female thruster jocks."

"Like Ella?"
 

Mitchell's eyes shifted. His dark glare caused Evan to back up a step.

"Sorry, Captain. I should keep my mouth shut. So, you're good?"

"Yeah." It was almost enough to break his concentration. A countdown appeared behind his eye. Ten seconds. "Get off the stage."

"Okay, okay. So, no to dinner?"

Mitchell shook his head. Evan continued to back away.

"Great. I'll hit your ARR again later so we can coordinate for the trip tomorrow morning."

The stage hand scurried away from Tamara, and she leaned forward again, putting herself back in her pre-break position.
 

The countdown reached zero, and a green square appeared.

"We're back with Captain Mitchell 'Ares' Williams, hero of the Battle for Liberty." She waited while the crowd cheered. "Captain Williams, you've been doing a lot of interviews in the media lately, and bringing what some would say is arguably the highest level of attention the Alliance military has ever received. And it isn't just here on Liberty but on Alliance planets across the galaxy. Can you tell us a little bit about why that is?"

Mitchell smiled and patted her hand, using the motion to remove it so he could get to his feet. He turned to meet one of the cameras as it angled between him and the audience.
 

"We may have defeated the Frontier Federation here on Liberty, but the Alliance forces took heavy losses. And the Federation is only one of the threats we all face on a daily basis. The New Terrans have been rattling their sabers for months, piracy is up across the galaxy, dozens of smaller rogue states are doing their best to create upheaval and, let's be honest, we discovered a flaw in the dreadnought design. You can bet the Federation is already working to fix it and get another one built. We need to make a concerted push into their space before that can happen, and at the same time maintain the safety of the rest of our territories. We need new recruits training here on Liberty and across the more than forty planets that make up the Alliance. We need pilots, engineers, admins, officers, everything, and let me tell you, its a great career and a great way to make a difference. What other profession gives you the chance to say you were responsible for saving the lives of billions of people?"

Tamara stood and joined him near the front of the set. She draped her arm over his shoulders, squeezing his bicep. "I'm not a warrior like you are, Captain Williams, but I'm ready to do my part," she said. She gazed out into the audience. "Take a look at this promotional video starring Captain Williams. Then, if you or someone you know is between eighteen and forty-five years of age, consider heading down to your nearest recruitment center and find out how you can help. Enlistment isn't just a privilege; it's an honor."

Mitchell sat with his back against the headboard, his head tilted so he could look up at the virtual sky displayed on the ceiling. He was still sweaty from the exercise, and the cool air on his naked flesh left him feeling crisp and awake.

"I have to go," Tamara said. Her left eye twitched, showing that she was looking into her civilian version of an ARR. "Thank you."

She leaned up to give him one last kiss, and then rolled out of the bed. He shifted his eyes so he could watch her bend over to retrieve her clothes.
 

"You have an ARR, I assume?" she said, pulling up her panties.
 

"Every member of the military does. What's your sig?"

"I'll knock."
 

She paused for a second. Mitchell heard a slight tone somewhere in his inner ear, his neural implant signaling that someone was trying to transmit to his p-rat. As military, he was forbidden to expose his signature under any circumstances. Civilians could call in, and he could accept, but he couldn't call out unless he already had the key stored. The setup made it possible for the brass to keep control over their classified intel, limit communications at whatever unit level they wanted for a given mission, erase anything they needed in the event of capture, or to force their grunts to conveniently lose access to anything they considered a distraction.

Freedom wasn't free, after all.

He accepted the knock. Tamara's key appeared behind his eye, a six-hundred character string of letters and numbers that he filed under her name. He never needed to remember it. His brain and the implant would handle that.

"Got it," he said. He watched her button her blouse. She had been a lot of fun.

"You're as good as I thought you'd be. Get in touch the next time you're in the capital." She found her purse near the front door, picked it up, and waved as she slipped out.

"Yeah, sure." He stared at the closed door for a few seconds. He didn't think anyone would have labeled him as good before Ella. She had taught him everything he knew, in more ways than one.

He sighed and pulled himself out of bed, checking the time. Eight-thirty. Plenty to spare. He made his way to the bathroom, slipping into a small stall and closing his eyes while being doused in anti-bacterial light and then tickled by sonic blasters. He'd been to a hotel on Earth once that still used water. Now
that
was an experience.

He stepped out of the stall, exited the bathroom, and found his travel pack, digging out his casual uniform. Dark blue pants, a tight, white, high-collared shirt, a wide-rimmed hat and a pair of genuine leather shoes that he had received as a gift from some politician or another in thanks for saving the galaxy. He also found his AZ-9 high capacity hand-rifle and strapped it to his side under his jacket. He had never liked to go anywhere without it before the Shot, and now? Evan tried to keep word from reaching him about the threats the Federation was making on his life, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Especially not when they refused to give him any kind of special escort. "Command thinks it makes us look weak," the Corporal had said.

He was riding the lift down to the lobby when the tone alerted him to an incoming message.
 

Ignore.
 

The signal came again in a different tone. Military and important.
 

Ignore.

"You could be court-martialed for refusing a flagged knock," Evan said, his voice ghostlike inside Mitchell's head.

"I think I'm pretty bullet-proof on the court-martial at this point. Besides, I knew it was you. I don't appreciate you bypassing the block, by the way."

Evan laughed. "You know I wouldn't bother you unless it were important. I'm sending you a new itinerary."

"Why?"

Evan was silent.

"Evan?"

"The Governor of Cestus has fallen ill, so we're shifting some of the dates around. No big deal. This is coming right from Command."

 
Mitchell knew he was lying. A death threat or some intel pointing towards an attempt on his life. He knew the Federation was eager to see him cut down, and he didn't blame them. He was broadcasting their failure across the entire galaxy, helping the Alliance run their propaganda machine day and night. They didn't seem to care if he wound up being martyred, and the enlistment ranks swelled. It was a matter of vengeful pride to them.

So far, the Security Department had done a good job steering him away from potential attacks, so if they were diverting from Cestus he was certain there was something in the works there. He pulled up his new itinerary. They were leaving in two hours. It was going to cut his plans short, but it was still enough time.
 

"Fine. Got it. Meet me at the hotel."

"Did you know Tamara King is one of the richest and most famous people on Liberty?" Evan was impressed with things like that. Mitchell had been more impressed with her agility.

"No. I didn't know that. I haven't had much time to pay attention to local celebrity gossip, with the war and everything."
 

In his life before the Shot, he had been stationed on the Greylock, one of the most elite Space Marine units in existence. They were the last line of defense and first line of response in almost every critical conflict that popped up inside Alliance-owned space. In the last five years he'd been to thirty different planets, done over four hundred space sorties, and seen action more times than he could keep track of. Greylock had been his true home, the small jumpship as good as any planet in the galaxy. The members of the company had been his friends, his brothers, his sisters, and his lovers.

Well, only one lover.

He missed her like crazy.

"Yeah, well, she is. Did you... you know?"

"Evan-"

"What? I'm just asking. I'm the one who has to follow you around like a worried mother instead of having a life of my own."

The lift reached the lobby. Mitchell stepped out and started walking. "Yeah," he said. There was no harm in throwing the Corporal a bone once in a while.
 

"I figured. I was jealous enough of you after that supermodel on Kepler. Was it good?"

"What do you think?"

Evan's laughter was an annoying buzz in his head. "I think you might be the luckiest man alive."

Eight-hundred of his family, dead. The number wasn't an exaggeration. Mitchell held back the choice words that threatened to make their way through the p-rat. Every word that moved through the implant was monitored, and Command wouldn't like him losing his cool.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll see you when you get here. Have someone grab my travel pack from my room, will you?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Good. Now get out of my head."

There was another signal when the connection closed. Mitchell decided he would have to speak with his CO about Evan's level of permissions. If he couldn't block the rep's knocks, he'd like to at least be able to kick him out when the conversation was over.

He pulled his hat down, trying to obscure his face. He exited the hotel and headed up the street. The traffic in the capital was only just starting to get back to some form of normalcy, though the signs of war were still everywhere. Dark scars marred the facades of a number of buildings around town, while countless heavy machines helped clear demolished buildings, and crews worked day and night to put the city back together. The hum of reactors and the heavy vibrations of mech feet were a constant reminder of the activity, even when their presence was obscured by the tall buildings that had managed to escape the bombardment.