Rita had gotten to her feet and was calmly returning the frying pan to the top of the portable gas stove. She killed the flame with a practiced hand.
“This glass is really something. You never know if it’s all just talk,” Rita mused.
“We have to hit back-no, I’ve got to find the sergeant-wait, our Jackets!”
“You should start by calming down.”
“But, what’s happening!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but couldn’t help it. None of this was in the script. I’d been looped so long that the idea of novel events terrified me. That the novel event in question happened to involve Mimic javelins exploding against the windows of the room I was standing in didn’t help.
“The Mimics use the loops to win the war. You’re not the only one who remembers what’s happened in each loop.”
“Then this is all because I screwed up the last time?”
“The Mimics must have decided this was the only way they could win. That’s all.”
“But… the base,” I said. “How did they even get here?”
“They came inland up the Mississippi to attack Illinois once. They’re aquatic creatures. It’s not surprising they found a way through a quarantine line created by a bunch of land-dwelling humans.” Rita was calm.
“I guess.”
“Leave the worrying to the brass. For you and me, this just means we fight here instead of Kotoiushi.”
Rita held out her hand. I clasped it and she helped me to my feet. Her fingers were callused at the bases- rub marks from the Jacket contact plates. The palm of the hand she’d been holding the frying pan with was much warmer than my own. I could feel the tight apprehension in my chest begin to ebb.
“A Jacket jockey’s job is to kill every Mimic in sight. Right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”
“We’ll go to the U.S. hangar first. I’ll put on my Jacket. We’ll get weapons for both of us. I’ll cover you on our way to the Japanese hangar. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Then we hunt down the server and kill it. End the loop. After that, just need to mop up whatever’s left.” I stopped shaking. Rita flashed an ironclad grin. “No time for our morning cup o’ joe.”
“Just gotta finish this before it gets cold,” I said, reaching for a cup.
“That an attempt at humor?”
“It was worth a try.”
“That would be nice though. Coffee never tastes the same when you reheat it. And if you leave the natural stuff sitting out, after about three days it starts to grow mold. That happened to me once in Africa. I coulda kicked myself.”
“Was it good?”
“Very funny.”
“If you didn’t drink it, how do you know it wasn’t?”
“You can drink all the moldy coffee you like. Don’t expect me to clean up after you when you get sick. Come on.”
Rita moved away from the table, leaving behind the freshly brewed, all-natural coffee. As we started to walk from the room, a small woman who’d been pressed up against the door came tumbling in, feathered headdress and all. Her black hair was braided into a ponytail that flopped behind her bizarre choice of headgear. Everybody’s favorite Native American, Shasta Raylle.
“We’re under attack! We’re under attack!” she shouted, nearly breathless. Her face was streaked with lines of red and white warpaint. I began to wonder if the whole loop thing was just me going crazy for the last few seconds of life in a steaming crater somewhere.
Rita took a step back to appreciate one of the brightest minds MIT had to offer. “Which tribe’s attacking?”
“Not a tribe! The Mimics!”
“This how you always dress for battle?”
“Is it that bad?” Shasta asked.
“I’m not one to criticize someone’s customs or religion, but I’d say you’re about two hundred years late to the powwow.”
“No, you don’t understand!” Shasta said. “They forced me to dress up like this at the party last night! This sort of thing always happens when you’re not around.”
I suppose everyone has a cross to bear, I thought.
“Shasta, why are you here?” Rita said, with surprising patience.
“I came to tell you your axe isn’t in the hangar, it’s in the workshop.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Be careful out there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t fight, so I figured I’d find a nice place to hide-”
“Use my room,” Rita said quickly. “The javelins can’t make it through the walls or the glass. It’s tougher than it looks. You just need to do me one little favor.”
“A… favor?”
“Don’t let anyone in here until either he or I come back.” Rita jabbed a thumb in my direction. I don’t think Shasta even realized there was anyone standing next to Rita until then. I could almost hear her big eyes blinking from somewhere behind her glasses as she stared at me. I hadn’t met Shasta Raylle yet in this loop.
“And you are…?”
“Keiji Kiriya. A pleasure.”
Rita stepped toward the door. “You’re not to let anyone in, no matter who they are or what they say. I don’t care if it’s the president, tell him to go fuck himself.”
“Yes sir!”
“I’m counting on you. Oh, and one other thing-”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for the good luck charm. I’ll need it.”
Rita and I hurried to the hangar.
4
By the time Rita and I had made the relatively long trip from the Sky Lounge, U.S. Special Forces had established a defensive perimeter with their hangar at its center.
Two minutes for Rita to put on her Jacket. One minute forty-five seconds to run to Shasta’s workshop. Six minutes fifteen seconds to put down two Mimics we encountered on the way to the Nippon hangar. In all, twelve minutes and thirty seconds had passed since we left the Sky Lounge.
The base had descended into chaos. Tongues of flame shot into the sky and vehicles lay overturned in the roads. Smoky haze filled the alleyways between the barracks, making it difficult to see. The firecracker popping of small arms fire, useless against Mimics, rang through the air, drowned out by the occasional roar of a rocket launcher. Javelins met attack choppers as they scrambled into the sky, shattering their rotor blades and sending them spiraling toward the ground.
For every person running north to flee the carnage, there was another running south. There was no way of knowing which way was safe. The surprise attack had smashed the chain of command. No one at the top had any better idea of what was going on than anyone at the bottom.
There were hardly any Mimic corpses, and of the ten thousand plus Jackets on the base there was no sign at all. Human bodies were scattered here and there. It didn’t take more than a glance at a crushed torso to know they were KIAs.
A dead soldier lay face down on the ground thirty meters in front of my hangar. His torso had been shredded to ground beef, but he was still clutching a magazine with both hands. Beneath a thin layer of dust a
