Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1) (6 page)

He didn't remember how he had gotten here. He remembered the gunfire, the chase. He remembered passing out.

Evan was dead. Damn.

"You're lucky," a man said from his left.
 

Mitchell couldn't move his head, but he shifted his eyes so he could see the doctor in his peripheral vision. An older man with a white flattop and a beard on a narrow face.
 

"The arm. One more inch down and the bullet would have exploded your elbow joint. We would have replaced it with a bionic."

"That's lucky?"
 

The doctor grunted. "I bet you've heard bionics are the best thing since the cure for cancer? I won't say they don't have their benefits, but they have drawbacks too."

"Like what?"

"They aren't the real thing. Flesh and blood." He came closer to Mitchell, moving to his right side and leaning down to inspect his head. "You were doubly lucky. One of the bullets grazed your temple. It managed to short your implant, but you didn't die. I'm Dr. Drummond, by the way."

They're going to fix it. Don't forget.

Mitchell blinked. Had he imagined the voice in his head? Ella's voice. It had felt like she was talking to him through his p-rat, as though the damaged implant had given him a conduit to the afterlife.

It was a stupid idea.

"Nice to meet you, doc. I heard a voice. While I was out."

"Mmmhmmm. I'm not surprised. Like I said, your implant was damaged. A crew was already rushed in to repair it, but sometimes the new circuits and the reset causes a bit of bio-feedback. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"So, it's normal?"
 

It certainly hadn't felt normal. It had been so real. Like she was here, instead of gone.

"Perfectly." He went over to the side of the room, out of Mitchell's vision. He returned a moment later with a small patch on his fingertip. "I'm going to put this over the wound on your head. It should seal everything up back to normal within the next few hours. Normally, we'd keep you here for observation, but Command wants you out of sickbay an hour ago." He pushed the small patch to Mitchell's head.
 

Mitchell blinked again, feeling a jolt of electricity run through his brain.

"Why the rush?" he asked.

"Beats me," Drummond said. "I'm just the doctor."

The three sets of robotic arms finished patching the rest of him. They retreated along a rail towards the back of the room. Dr. Drummond moved to his side and checked their work. "Mmmhmmm. I don't know why they still have us verifying the medical bots. It's not like they ever make a mistake. That's government bureaucracy for you."

He moved out of view again, and a moment later Mitchell's whole body began to feel warm, the feeling slowly returning to his limbs. He flexed his fingers, the pins and needles beginning to subside.

"Good as new," Drummond said. "Once you can sit up, access your ARR and confirm that it's functional."

Mitchell pushed himself up, forcing his muscles to work despite their weariness. Shocks ran all along his body in protest, but he didn't let that stop him. He turned and swung his legs off the side of the gurney, unconcerned with his nakedness. He focused on his left side, to where the p-rat was displaying his vitals.

"Everything appears to be normal," he said.
 

Dr. Drummond was staring at him. "Mmmhmmm. I've never seen someone come out of paralyzation that fast."

Mitchell smiled. "I've done this a few times before. You get used to it."

"No, Captain. Most people don't get used to it."

Mitchell shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt a little bit weak, but he shook them until all of the prickliness faded.
 

"I could use some clothes."

Dr. Drummond pointed to the left. "In there. Get dressed, and then come back and sign your discharge."

Mitchell went through the hatch on the left, into a sparse dressing room. A new uniform was waiting for him there. He started putting it on at the same time he accessed the p-rat.
 

"Ella?" he whispered, sending the thought through the neural implant.
 

There was no reply. Of course there wasn't. He was being stupid. Drummond said it was normal.

He finished dressing, enjoying the feel of the new, pressed uniform on his skin. He checked himself in the mirror. They had shaved his head in order to clean the wound, a look he hadn't sported since his last mech drop on... He struggled to remember. There had been so many planets. He knew it had been six months ago.
 

It felt like a lifetime.
 

He put his hand to the patch on his temple. Dr. Drummond was right that he was lucky to be alive. If the bullet that grazed his skull had been an inch to the left...

"Captain Mitchell Williams?"

She was standing in the sick room when he came out. She was a serious woman, fit and pretty. Dark hair tinged with wisps of gray that fell to her shoulder-blades, a narrow face and sharp features. A beige complexion matched with bright blue eyes. Her uniform was crisp, newly pressed and positioned just-so on her lean frame. She had opted for the skirt, revealing long, smooth legs that ended in a pair of standard issue pumps.

"You aren't Dr. Drummond," he said.

"Did you make that assessment on your own, or did your ARR help you with that?"

"Cute. Let me guess, you're my new handler?"

"My name is Major Christine Arapo. And yes, I'm your new handler."

"Major?" They had sent in someone who outranked him.
 

"Let me be blunt with you, Captain," she said. "I know what happened at the Battle for Liberty. I know what Command is making you do. And, I know that you don't like it."

"I especially don't like the part where I get shot."

Her eyes narrowed. "I also know you were supposed to be on a shuttle off Liberty thirty minutes before the attempt on your life. An attempt that would not have been made if you had been on that shuttle. An attempt that left Corporal Evan Kwon and four civilians dead. The fact that you were shot was an avoidable situation that you created. Do you follow me, Captain?"

Mitchell stared at her for a moment, feeling his heart skip. Corporal Kwon dying was bad enough. He hadn't known about the civilian casualties. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'll continue to be frank, Captain. General Cornelius sent me this assignment himself, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. I didn't spend the last twenty years working my ass to Major only to have my reward be to babysit a Space Marine whose diaper is too tight."

Mitchell was silent. It was the best thing to do in the situation.

"You signed up for this, Captain. For the next ten years, your life belongs to us. That means you're property. Command tells you to go onto streams with your pretty face and work the crowd, that's what you do. Command tells you to screw the Queen of Talk, that's what you do."

He wondered how she knew about that already.
 

"You don't go and cry into your beer. You don't get your fellow officers killed. And you damned well don't put civilians in the line of fire. Is that understood, Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am." He barked it out, putting himself at full attention.

She softened then, just a little. He wondered if she'd been expecting him to protest. "There's a reason we change your travel plans last minute, Captain, and it isn't because we like paying expediting fees. Security wasn't clear on whether the threat was on Cestus or Liberty, so we tried to get you far away from both."

That explained why they were heading to Kolmar. The planet was right near the inner edge of the Rim.

"Permission to speak frankly, Major?"

She caught his eyes with her own. "Granted."

"If Command were more transparent with me on the threats, instead of treating me like a baby whose diapey is too tight, we could have avoided this, ma'am. I may enjoy the occasional drink. I don't enjoy getting people killed."

She nodded. "I've advised Command of the same. Obviously, you knew something about the threats. The AZ-9 isn't exactly a subtle choice."

"As I've said, ma'am. It doesn't take a genius to suspect that the Federation might be a little bit pissed at me for blowing up their prized starship. Thanks to Command, they don't know they have the wrong guy."

"Which is how it will stay. At ease, Captain. What can you tell me about the one that got away?"

Mitchell let his body relax. "Not much, ma'am. All I saw of them was their back. They were wearing black riding skins, and they were tall. Six feet, maybe?"

"Gender?"

"I don't know. They were wearing a helmet. I would guess male by their build, but I've seen female Marines with that kind of stature before."

"Age?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Major, I didn't get much of a look. What about the two I killed?"

"No prints, no identification. They had military p-rats, but they'd been updated with black market firmware. Our best guess is mercenaries. We're working with the Liberty government to figure out how and when they made planetfall."

"I wouldn't mind going after them, ma'am. I owe them for Corporal Kwon."

"I'm sure you know that won't be possible. How is your arm feeling?"

Mitchell lifted and rotated it. The bots had done their job. "A little stiff. I'll be good as new in a couple of days."

"Excellent. I'm sure you know, we can't afford to have you out of action for long. Fortunately, your shootout downtown has only added to your cachet. The media hasn't even mentioned the bystanders that were killed, only that you single-handedly stopped a terrorist attack by the Federation."

"Terrorist attack?"

"Yes. That was my idea."
 

Mitchell tried not to draw back when she smiled. There was a predator that lived in the jungles on Kepler that the scientists had named an Osset. It was a frightening large, blue, cat-like creature that displayed the unusually human characteristic of hunting purely for sport.
 

That's what she reminded him of.

"I'll send Dr. Drummond back in so you can finalize your discharge. Report to the officer's barracks. They'll set you up with a room for the remainder of the night. I'll meet you in the morning, oh seven hundred, and we'll review your itinerary moving forward."

"Yes, ma'am," Mitchell said.

Major Arapo took a couple of steps towards the exit, and then stopped. She looked back at him. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, Captain, so please, call me Christine. As long as you behave yourself we can remain casual. That doesn't mean we're friends, or that I won't shake you down if you test me. I hope you'll work with me because I'm looking out for you, and for the Alliance, and not because of my rank."

Mitchell forced a smile. He wasn't convinced she wasn't focused on what was best for her and her career. "I'll do my best, Christine."

"See that you do better than that."
 

She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone. He heard her voice for a minute through the hatch, and then Dr. Drummond returned.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" he said.

"Major Arapo?" Mitchell asked. "Are you familiar with the praying mantis?"

Dr. Drummond laughed. "At least it ends on a good note."

"She might be right for you. She's a little old for me."

"I prefer the word 'experienced,' Captain."

Mitchell felt the doctor's knock on his p-rat. He accepted the discharge form and attached his sig to it, and then sent it back.
 

"A woman like that... I don't think I want her experience," Mitchell said. He put out his hand. "Thanks for putting me back together, doc."

Dr. Drummond took it. "The bots did all the work, but you're welcome."

Mitchell was standing at the open hatch to the sick room when he felt Dr. Drummond's hand come down on his shoulder.

"Mmmhmmm. Ares. Find Goliath."

Mitchell spun around so fast that the doctor stumbled away from him.
 

"What did you say?"

"What?" Dr. Drummond asked.

"What did you just say?"

"I said take care of yourself, Captain." The doctor stared at him. "Are you sure you're okay? I can run another diagnostic."

Mitchell shook his head. He hoped the bullet hadn't done more damage than they realized. "No. I'm okay. Just a little jumpy, I think."

Dr. Drummond didn't look convinced. It didn't matter. Mitchell had already signed the discharge.
 

He left the infirmary without another word.

Major Arapo knocked on his p-rat the following morning, at precisely oh seven hundred hours. Mitchell had been awake for three hours prior, the thirty-four hour days on Liberty offering him a little more recuperation time than he might have been granted on Earth. He'd used the time to go through his typical morning run followed by a round of intense PE that helped him try to work his arm back into its normal range of motion. The run had given him a chance to clear his head. By the time he'd returned to his room sweaty and awake, he had come to the conclusion that the voice in his head was exactly what Dr. Drummond had said it was - nothing more than a minor glitch caused by the repair of his neural implant.