Starship Eternal (War Eternal Book 1) (21 page)

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"You have to admit, it sounds impossible."

"I know."

"It does explain a few things, though. For instance, how you can have a starfighter with an FTL engine. Or the fact that neither Watson or Singh has been able to do so much as get the damned cockpit open. Even the access doors are incompatible with any of our tools. They were going to take apart the helmet you were wearing, but after Watson said your ARR was offline, I told them to hold off. I was worried they might not be able to put it back together again."

"It uses a wireless neural network link with the ship's AI," Mitchell said.

"Amazing." She put her hand to her face, supporting her head and continuing to stare. "I want to believe this."

"But you don't."

"No. Not completely. Clones from the future? Right now, I'm working on keeping an open mind."

"Technically from the past. Is that so impossible though? Every time we move into hyperspace we're breaking relativity."

"Not breaking. Bending. Anyway, you're talking about an entire shift in the way we as a species consider time. That's a pretty big thing."

Mitchell shrugged. "Well, believe it or not, Millie, that's my story. I hope to God that you're a real thing, that this ship is real, and I'm not passed out in a field somewhere, or that this isn't Hell. Either that, or I hope I wake up right now. Let me tell you, it hasn't been fun since the Prime Minister walked in on me with his wife in my lap."

"So that part is true?"

"No. These... I don't even know what to call them... travelers? They can send transmissions through the implant. Suggestions. Did I have sex with the Prime Minister's wife? Yes. One, I didn't know she was his wife. Two, it was consensual, believe me."

"I do believe you. I got access to your records. You were one of the top jockeys in the most elite company in the Space Marines. Liberty wasn't the first time you earned a commendation, and you have zero marks against you over ten years of spotless service."

Mitchell had been reaching for another slice of the bird. He dropped his fork, his own suspicions drawing nearer to resolve. "How did you get my records?"

 
She smiled. "To answer your earlier question: the drone that dropped out of FTL sent us the transmission. I'm the lone Admiral in the one-ship Navy known only as Project Black. Welcome to the Riggers."

"The Riggers?" Mitchell asked. He was frozen in his chair, eyeing Millie as though she might sprout fangs and tear into him.
 

"From the root term 'frig-up,' which got slang-shortened to 'frigger,' and then just 'rigger.' We're the Alliance's dirty little secret. A small black ops team of some of the best of the best who just happened to run afoul of some galactic law or another."

He was dumbstruck. He struggled to find words. "I.. How? I mean... I never heard of-"

"Here's the deal, Mitchell. Everyone on this ship has been court-martialed. Some of the reasons aren't at all pretty or forgivable. Some of us should have been jettisoned into space. The thing is, we have undeniable skills, skills that the Alliance spent a lot of money on providing us and aren't exactly keen to lose. So, about five years ago they started a program under the table - Project Black. The idea was to bring all of us frig-ups who have at least some concept of chain of command and patriotism together and send us off to do all the low-down dirty that the Alliance can't afford to be connected to. In exchange, we get to continue to live, breathe, and soldier on."

"This is a military vessel?" Mitchell said softly.

"Yes. You already worked out that the whole mining thing is a front. Good for you. There's a reason we have a Knight and a Piranha in the hold. We also have a couple dozen of the most ferocious Army grunts in the universe on board. We do what the Alliance can't do. We drop in where the Alliance can't go, including the Rim. You wanted to disappear, Mitchell? This is your chance. Your best chance. The Alliance thinks you're dead, and I want it to stay that way."

"If I join you."

"If you join us."

Mitchell leaned back in his chair. His first thought was that he couldn't believe his luck. His second was the realization that there was no luck involved. The starfighter's course to the planetoid had nothing to do with the air supply. He hadn't programmed the thing to take him anywhere. The destination was preset, his control an illusion. M wanted this ship, the Riggers, to find him. It was the only thing that made sense.

He started laughing. Even if the future had changed the moment M arrived into the time loop, that didn't mean there was no advantage to knowing what might have been.

"What about Goliath?" he asked.

"We have operational orders," she said. "We can't go hunting for a lost starship."

"I need to find the Goliath. Don't you get that? If what my clone said was true, we're all dead without it."

"I told you, I'm still on the fence with believing your story. I don't need to believe you to want you on board. To want you as part of the team, badly enough that it's going to be my neck if any of the top brass ever hears that I've got you stowed away here."

"What if I say no?"

"You become a security risk that I won't take. You won't say no, not when push comes to shove."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're a pilot. A warrior. You said so yourself."

Mitchell stared at her. She was right. They both knew it. Still, M had warned him to find the Goliath. How was he going to do that trapped on this ship?
 

"The S-17 and the helmet will only work with my brain, and I know that's a resource you aren't going to want to waste. It also has an FTL engine. How do you know I won't cut and run the first chance I get?"

She tapped the side of her head. "Watson's working on a replacement for your implant. We don't have the standard issue or we'd be outed as military any time we went near an outpost. It has a kill switch built in that I can activate from here. If you give me any reason at all to think you're planning on going hyper, I won't hesitate to drop you." She got to her feet and walked over to his side of the table. She put her hand on his arm and looked down at him. "Besides, you know the value of discipline and the chain of command better than most of the cons on this ship. I know you won't abandon your team."

He wouldn't. They both knew that, too. "There may be an enemy out there. One that's going to overpower us before we can act, if we don't act with the information we've been given."

"There are real enemies of the Alliance out there, Mitchell. Threats we already know about. We're in a unique position to try to stop them." She paused for a few seconds while she thought. "Tell me you'll become one of us and I'll do my best to get you whatever information I can on the Goliath. If you get me a concrete lead on its location, either we'll go and check it out as soon as our docket is clear, or maybe you'll earn enough trust that I'll allow you to go on your own. I don't have to make you this offer, but I'm smart enough to know how valuable you can be to our mission."

It wasn't as though he had an abundance of options. "Fair enough," Mitchell said. "I only have one other condition."

"Trying to bargain? I've already been more than generous."

"You have. Consider it an ask, then. I want to report to you directly."

She smiled. "That was a given. You're the second-highest ranking officer on this ship."

Mitchell returned her smile and waved towards her empty chair. "In that case, Admiral, please, sit. Eat. We don't want to waste a perfectly good whatever-it-is."

"Please, call me Millie when we're alone, and Captain when we aren't. The crew responds better to me that way." She returned to her seat while Mitchell picked up his fork and grabbed another slice of the pheasant.

"Have it your way. So, Millie... You know my history. What are you in for?"

He figured it was something white-collar. Money laundering, tax evasion, fraud, that sort of thing. Despite Ensign Brigg's veiled warning, the Admiral seemed too together to have done anything violent.

She didn't hesitate to answer. Maybe it was because she was used to the question from being a criminal in charge of a ship of criminals. Maybe it was because she had no regrets. Either way, the answer sent a chill through his spine.

"Murder."

She didn't say anything else about it, and Mitchell was afraid to ask. They finished their meal, with Millie doing most of the talking, taking the time to explain what was expected of him, and what life on her ship was like. It wasn't too different from life on the Greylock, a life he had been missing so badly. The main adjustment would be in his need to learn different aspects of the ship's operation in order to help the too-small company keep it all running as efficiently as possible.

Afterward, she sent a knock to Anderson, to have him escort Mitchell back down to B-Deck and his new berthing.

"Once you've settled in, you're free to roam the Schism as you will. Just make sure you find your way to engineering before you bunk for the night so Watson can install your new implant."

"You named this ship the Schism?"

"I didn't. General Cornelius did. It was to remind us that we're in this together. It's a word that symbolizes the constant threat to our cohesiveness. As I said, some of the crew are here for some very ugly crimes, and we tend to hold our own opinions more strongly than the typical soldier."

Crimes worse than murder? He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were.

"So Cornelius knows about Project Black?"

"Of course. It was his idea."

"What time is it now?"

"Eighteen-hundred Earth-standard. I'll be holding a mission briefing at oh-six-hundred."

Twelve hours. It would be plenty of time to explore a little bit. "How soon can you get me the data on Goliath?"

"Not until we come out of hyperspace. I'll have to be subtle with the request. We don't want to draw any unwanted attention, and believe me when I say we're under more constant scrutiny than the rest of the armed forces. The only reason we have any autonomy at all is because we require custom implants."

A heavy fist rapped on the door. It opened a second later, and Anderson stepped in. His glance crossed over Millie and landed on Mitchell. He still had the gun in his hand.

"You won't be needing that any more Lieutenant," Millie said. "Captain Williams is one of us now."

He scowled at Mitchell.

"Holster your sidearm, Lieutenant," Mitchell said. "That's an order."

Anderson looked like he was going to explode. His face turned beet red, the muscles on his neck throbbing below his collar. He slowly put the gun away, remaining silent.

"Captain Williams doesn't exist. Do you understand, Lieutenant? He's a ghost on this ship."

"I don't have to take orders from a ghost."

"You'll take orders if he gives them," Millie snapped. "Don't test me, Anderson."

His forehead wrinkled and then he bowed to her. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Good. Take Mitchell down to berthing. He'll be getting Yasil's quarters."
 

Anderson was silent, but by his expression he didn't look happy about that decision either.

Millie turned to face Mitchell. "I've already sent a message to Lopez to bring down enough grays for a week. If you want something fancier, you can find your way to supply. You might want to stop by there anyway, we have a few replica paintings and things like that you can use to decorate your room."

"You're giving me a whole room?" He had never had his own quarters. The idea made him more uncomfortable than he would have guessed.

"That was my plan."

"No offense, Captain, but no thank you. I know Ilanka is one of your pilots. Just put me near her."

"Are you sure?" Millie asked.

"Positive. I don't want special treatment. I told you I was in. I'm going to earn my keep."

She smiled. "Okay. Ilanka is in B-23. The bunk above hers is open. We had a second pilot, but we lost him during a mission three months ago."

"I'm sorry."