Forever Until Tomorrow (War Eternal Book 5) (26 page)

Mitchell used the opportunity while they walked to explain everything as he remembered it, from the dinner party where he met the Prime Minister's wife, to his final moments aboard his starfighter, watching Earth's defenses crumble beneath Watson's surprise attack. Recalling his history was painful, and in some parts left him feeling as if he had no idea who he was. His actions at the gala seemed so alien to him now. Had he really been so easily manipulated by a pretty face?
 

Lyle and Max listened intently, fascinated by the story, their belief in the tale growing with the level of detail he provided. While they had both already agreed to help him, he could feel their resolve strengthening with every kilometer they crossed.

The night passed quickly and quietly. Mitchell and Max took turns keeping an eye on Lyle, and when the Detective woke the next morning, he claimed to be as good as new. Mitchell knew better than to trust it, especially when he caught Lyle wincing a few times, but he also knew better than to question. It would take more than a concussion to keep the man down.

"Think anyone's home?" Max asked.

They were standing at the door to the first house they had come across, a relatively modern thing tucked back from a road they had discovered a few kilometers earlier. Mitchell imagined that the road had seen heavy use overnight, as emergency vehicles used it to reach the crash and evacuate the wounded if there were any. They had already hidden in the trees beyond the shoulder a few times to escape notice, their torn clothes and grime-encrusted bodies clear evidence of their involvement in the event. It was the reason they had decided to approach the building in the first place. They couldn't walk into Denver looking the way they did. Not when the goal was to avoid attention.

"Do you think we have a choice either way?" Lyle said.

"No," Max replied. "I'd rather not have to scare anybody. These folks didn't do anything to us."

"Agreed," Mitchell said. "But whoever they are, they and everyone they love is dead if we don't steal some of their clothes."

"I'd call that as good a reason as any."

Mitchell climbed the four steps to the wide front door. A chime sounded behind the door as he reached it. He looked back at Lyle and Max, who were both holding guns behind their backs. Watson had seen to it that he was wanted by law enforcement. Now he really felt like a criminal.

He counted to thirty. The chime was still going, triggered by his presence on the steps. He counted thirty again.

No one came to the door.

"Our lucky day," Max said.

"If you call getting hit by a train lucky," Lyle said.

"You didn't get hit by the train, bro. You were in it."

"Excuse me, Corporal. If you call getting hit by a corpse while riding in a train derailed by a deranged artificial intelligence from the future lucky."

Max laughed. "That's better, Sarge."

Mitchell allowed himself a small smiled before turning back to them. "What's the easiest way in?"

"The front door is probably bolted," Lyle said. "Let's go around back."

They circled the house. There were plenty of windows, but they were all electrostatic, the opacity adjusted down too far to easily see in. The back door was standard issue, and Lyle had it open within seconds.

"I thought you were a good guy?" Max said. "You're damn handy with locked doors."

"Do you know how hard it is to get a decent warrant nowadays? Evidence first, warrant later."
 

They entered the home.
 

"Hello," Max called out. "We're not going to hurt you. We're Marines. We just need to borrow some clothes." He lowered his voice. "What if nobody lives here? Or only women?"

"Somebody lives here," Mitchell said, pointing at a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. "Bedrooms are most likely upstairs. Let's be quick about this."

They made their way upstairs. The house was fairly new, large and well-appointed, enough that Mitchell was surprised it didn't have a security system. They entered the master bedroom, locating a large closet filled predominately with suits.

"Ugh," Max said. "I don't mind dressing up for the right reasons. Fighting an out of control AI isn't one of them."

Lyle pointed at a holographic display projecting from a nightstand. A man with his arms wrapped around a woman from behind. They were both smiling. "Uh. Colonel."

"What is it?" Mitchell asked.

"I recognize these two." He shook his head sadly. "On the train."

"Oh, shit," Max said. "You're frigging kidding?"

"No. I don't forget a face. It's part of the job. Those two were both on the train."

"That explains why the house is empty," Mitchell said. So many had already died, he was almost becoming numb to it. He wanted to feel sorry for the latest casualties. He was finding it difficult.

"It'll take at least twenty-four hours for law enforcement to id the bodies and find their way here," Lyle said. "At least we don't have to rush."

"Shitty silver lining, bro," Max said. "I call dibs on the shower."

Max entered the closet, grabbed the largest sizes he could find, and passed them into the bathroom, closing the door.

"I've never done anything this macabre before," Lyle said. "Using a dead couple's shower?"

"It isn't my first choice either."

Lyle opened a drawer on the nightstand. A small touchpad rested inside. He picked it up and tapped it. The wall across from the bed lit up, displaying a stream.

"You're leaving fingerprints everywhere," Mitchell said.

"We'll wipe everything down before we go." He tapped on the keypad. "Watson's tracking us. He won't think a couple sleeping in and watching streams is out of the ordinary."

"Not unless he already knows they're dead."

"We have to take some chances, right?"

"Yes."

"Hey, look at that."

Mitchell looked over at the projection. A reporter was standing outside what looked like a military base. The text below her said, "Norfolk UEA: Dove launch in jeopardy as top pilot retires from service."

"Major Asher?" Lyle said.

"Audio?" Mitchell said.

He tapped somewhere else on the pad.
 

"Officials declined to comment on the latest development, following two recent terrorist attacks by the Anti-Interstellar Travel Coalition that claimed the lives of a number of top dignitaries, as well as members of the United Earth Alliance military. We at GNN wish Major Asher the best in her future endeavors outside of the armed services."

The image faded out, replaced with a new reporter. He was standing against an aerial video of a smoldering debris field. The text below now read, "San Diego: Four hundred dead at the site of one of five simultaneous maglev crashes. Over two thousand reported dead overall. AIT denies responsibility."

"Denies responsibility?" Lyle said.

Mitchell considered the news. If Major Asher had left the military, there had to be a reason for it. He didn't think it was her decision, which meant that Watson had managed to manipulate the UEA into letting her go. By promising the Dove would be safe? It would make the AIT's denial of the train crashes more understandable, but how could anyone in the UEA top brass believe it after what had occurred over the last few days?
 

He didn't know or understand Watson's plan. He hoped the data chip he carried would be of some use there. "Everything we learn puts Watson more and more in control. I'm starting to feel like we're already boxed in."

"Let's see what Max's contact can do for us," Lyle said. "We aren't out of this thing until we're dead."

Mitchell nodded. "I like your attitude, Sergeant."

"Oorah."

They each took their turn showering and changing. It was fortunate that they were all of similar enough height and build that they managed to fit into the clothing they had found, even if they were clearly too short on Max, a little too long on Lyle, and too loose on Mitchell. It was all more passable than the rags they had arrived in, and the similar but poorly tailored cuts gave them the appearance of a second-rate salesman. At least, that's what Max had claimed they looked like.
 

They had decided to call Max's contact from the system in the home, assuming it was less likely to be monitored, but having no way to know for sure. Fortunately, his ex had been in intelligence and had a good head on her shoulders. She spoke to Max in pseudo-code, carrying on a conversation about her pet Shih Tzu that was in truth an arrangement for them to meet. Unfortunately, that meeting couldn't happen until after midnight, as she had other business that couldn't wait. Mitchell didn't ask what kind.
 

It gave them too long to sit and wait, though Lyle was grateful for the opportunity to rest a bit more in the wake of his injury. He slept on the floor, not wanting to disturb the bed while Max set about wiping away as many clues of their presence in the house as he could. Mitchell kept guard, watching out for officers making their way to the house to check for next of kin or to search it for clues to the disaster. He knew they would be busy with the living for some time, and it gave him a measure of pleasure that Watson had inadvertently aided them in their escape.

A search of the garage turned up a spare car, and a search of the kitchen uncovered the access fob. By the time they made their way from the house, they were clean, rested, armed, and ready. They had been lucky so far, and Mitchell was hoping that luck would stay with them.

Denver was like most of the larger cities in the country, an in-flux mixture of old technology and new, attempting to find the proper balance between cost and efficiency. Repulsor cars mingled with wheeled vehicles, driverless AI shared the road with humans, mass transit was refined but still underserved, and architecture blended stone, concrete, metal, glass, and newer, more exotic materials into a melting pot that was growing easier to segment to before and after XENO-1.

Max had arranged for them to meet his ex, a woman he told them to call Daisy, in the bar outside of a sensory theater. Mitchell hadn't understood the term at first until the explanation led him to relate it to combat simulators in his timeframe. Fully enmeshed virtual reality, where an individual or group became the center of the story. The largest difference was that the stories were still relatively linear, rather than fully, dynamically altered by interactions with the system's AI.
 

Not that they had time for games. Major Asher was out of the military, Origin was missing in action, and Watson appeared to be in total control.

For now.

There was a reason they had decided to wipe his memories for all of those years. There had to be a reason too that he still couldn't remember how he had arrived in St. Louis. He and Katherine and Origin, and even Kathy had developed some elaborate plan in a past timeline with the intent of ending the war. Had they been expecting Watson to exploit a loophole in the eternal engine? It seemed impossible to think so, but why else had he been disappeared so completely, including from himself?
 

The data chip had to have answers. Origin wouldn't count on being able to reach him. The Tetron often had contingency after contingency to fall back on.
 

The bar was upscale, clean and modern. The preferred drink was a martini or a mojito, the patrons quiet and organized. The layout was designed to ease the visitor into the experience of the theater, and as a result was equipped with jamming technology to render AR interfaces useless. There was no outside noise filtered into the space. Come. Sit. Spend time with your friends. Prepare for the ride.

It was an obvious place to meet. A place where Watson wouldn't be able to listen in. Where no one outside of earshot would be able to listen in.
 

Daisy was a dark-skinned woman with short hair and a serious face, dressed in loose fitting synthetics that shimmered as she moved. Her background was obvious to Mitchell as they approached her, from the way she positioned herself at the table, to the cautious, measured expression as they joined her there.

"Daisy," Max said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "It's been too long."

"Max." Daisy didn't smile. "Let's keep this quick. I only agreed to this meet because you said it had to do with national security." She glanced over at Lyle. She did smile at him. "Carson. How have you been?"

"Other than a bump on the head, not bad," Lyle replied.

"This here is Colonel Mitchell Williams, United Earth Alliance," Max said, putting his hand on Mitchell's shoulder. "I set this up on his behalf. The Colonel here has a hell of a story, and he needs your help."

Daisy looked at Mitchell. She kept her smile, though it shrank slightly as she looked him over. "You're a long way from the nearest Alliance installation."

"Out of necessity," Mitchell said. "Before we talk, I need you to stand up and turn around."

"What?" The smile disappeared.
 

"Please. I need to check your neck."

"For what?"

The bar was jamming normal AR signals. Mitchell didn't completely trust that it was able to jam Watson as well. He remembered the devices the intelligence had used to take control of the Riggers on Goliath. It would be stupid to think he wouldn't be doing the same thing here.