The sounds of the fighting outside intruded on the quiet of the cafeteria. Explosions were the beat of distant drums. Shells tearing through the sky were the high notes of flutes. Automatic rifles played a staccato percussion. Rita and I brought together raucous cymbals of tungsten carbide.
There were no cheering onlookers in the crumbling ruins of the cafeteria. Piles of tables and overturned chairs were our only spectators, silent observers to the deadly dance of our crimson and sand Jackets. We moved in a spiral, as Rita always did, tracing a pattern in the concrete floor. We were dancing a war ballet, wrapped in the pinnacle of mankind’s technology, our crude weapons singing a thousand-year-old dirge.
My axe blade was notched and dull. My Jacket was covered in scars, its battery all but depleted. My muscles moved by sheer willpower alone.
A tremendous explosion shook the cafeteria. We jumped at the sound.
I knew her next strike would be a killing blow. There would be no avoiding it. No time to think—thinking was for training. Battle was all about action. The experience etched into my body through 159 battles would guide my movements.
Rita pulled her axe back for the swing. My axe would answer from below. The two giant blades crossed, shredding plates of armor.
There was only one real difference between Rita and me. Rita had learned to fight the Mimics alone. I had learned to fight the Mimics watching Rita. The precise moment she would swing, the next step she would take—my operating system had recorded it all. I knew what her next move would be. That’s why Rita’s swing only grazed me, and my swing tore open her Jacket.
A hole gaped in Rita’s crimson armor.
“Rita!”
Her battle axe trembled in her hands. Rita’s Jacket was doing its best to filter the unintended commands triggered by the convulsions in her muscles. The axe’s tungsten carbide handle clattered noisily against her gauntlets. Blood, oil, and some unidentifiable fluids oozed from the newly opened split in her armor. The scene was eerily familiar to me, and I felt a renewed sense of terror. She extended her arm and fumbled for the jack on my shoulder plate. A contact comm. Rita’s voice was clear in my helmet.
“You win, Keiji Kiriya.” The crimson Jacket leaned hard against me. Rita’s voice was dry and laced with pain.
“Rita—why?”
“I’ve known for a long time. Ever since I first got the Mimic signal. The battle always ends.”
“What? I don’t—”
“You’re the one who makes it out of this loop.” Rita coughed, a mechanical sputtering sound through the link.
I finally understood. When I met Rita yesterday, she had decided that she was going to die. I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time. I thought I’d accidentally tripped some sort of flag. I should have been trying to find a way to save her, but I let the day slip through my fingers.
“I’m sorry, Rita. I—I didn’t know.”
“Don’t apologize. You won.”
“Won? Can’t we just … just keep repeating this? We may never leave the loop, but we’ll be together. Forever. We can be together longer than a lifetime. Every day will be a battle, but we can handle battle. If I have to kill a thousand Mimics, a million, I will. We’ll do it together.”
“Every morning you’ll wake up to a Rita Vrataski who doesn’t know you exist.”
“I don’t care.”
Rita shook her head. “You don’t have a choice. You have to break out of the loop before what happened to me happens to you. End this goddamn thing while you still can.”
“I can’t sacrifice you to do it.”
“The Keiji Kiriya I know wouldn’t sacrifice the human race for himself.”
“Rita—”
“There isn’t much time. If there’s something you want to say, say it now.” The crimson Jacket slumped.
“I’ll stay with you until you die. I—I love you.”
“Good. I don’t want to die alone.”
Her face was hidden beneath her helmet, and I was grateful. If I’d been able to see her tears, I never could have ended the loop and left her forever. Light from the setting sun, red and low in the western sky, played across Rita’s crimson Jacket, enveloping her in a brilliant ruby glow.
“Long fight, Keiji. It’s already sunset.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Sentimental bastard.” There was a smile in her voice. “I hate red skies.”
It was the last thing she ever said.
6
The sky was bright.
Rita Vrataski was dead. After I killed the Mimic server and mopped up the stragglers, they threw me in the brig. They said it was for dereliction of duty. By recklessly ignoring the orders of a superior officer, I had placed my fellow soldiers in harm’s way. Never mind that there hadn’t been any superior officers to give any fucking orders. They were scrambling to find someone to pin Rita’s death on, and I couldn’t blame them for wanting a scapegoat.
The court martial took place three days after they locked me up; I was cleared of the charges. In the end, they decided to pin a medal on me instead.
A general, the one who had ordered up the PT, patted me on the back and told me what a fine job I’d done. He all but rolled his eyes when he said it. I wanted to tell him to shove the medal up his ass for all the good it would do, but I stopped myself. Rita’s death was my responsibility. No point in taking it out on him.
The medal was the Order of the Valkyrie, awarded to soldiers who killed over one hundred Mimics in a single battle. An award originally created for one very special soldier. The only way to receive a higher honor was to die in battle—like Rita had.
I really had killed a lot of the fuckers. More than all of Rita’s kills combined in just one battle. I don’t remember much of what happened after I destroyed the server, but apparently I found a replacement battery for my suit and proceeded to single-handedly take out somewhere around half of all the Mimics that had attacked Flower Line.