The End of All Things: The Third Instalment by John Scalzi Read Free Book Online Page A

there was any signal from the Tubingen. I didn’t want to try to signal them, in case anyone was listening, but if they were sending to us they might have information we survivors could use.
    Nothing. That wasn’t good.
    I stood up, visual camo still on, and walked to where I could again see the lights in the distance. I applied the visual to the data for ground maps I had in my BrainPal for the mission. I checked that against the position of the stars in the sky. I was in the foothills above the suburbs of Omdurman, Khartoum’s capital city. I was forty-five klicks southeast of the city’s capital district, thirty-eight klicks south of the “undisclosed location” where I knew the prime minister to be, and twenty-three klicks southwest of the secondary extraction point where I hoped any survivors of my platoon were now heading.
    I wasn’t interested in any of those at the moment. Instead I called up my visual cache of the last hour and tracked back to a visual of one of the beams targeting a soldier of mine, and started using the visual information, along with my descent data, to track back the location of whatever was creating that beam.
    Sixteen klicks due almost directly north, also in the foothills, near an abandoned reservoir.
    “Got you,” I said, bumped up my low-light visual acuity as much as possible to avoid falling into a hole, and started jogging toward the target. As I did I had my BrainPal play me music, so I would be distracted from thinking about Lambert, or Salcido, or Powell, or any other members of my platoon.
    I would think about them later. I would grieve them later. Right now I needed to find out who shot them down.
    * * *
    Six klicks from the target, something knocked me off my feet and threw me to the ground. I immediately pushed off and rolled, confused because I had my visual camo on, and because whatever hit me and tossed me to the ground was nowhere to be seen. I had been shoved by a ghost.
    Lieutenant.
    It took me a second to realize that the voice I heard was through my BrainPal, not my ears.
    Directly in front of you, the voice said. Tightbeam me. I don’t know if we’re still being tracked.
    Powell? I said, via tightbeam, incredulous.
    Yes, she said. She sent me visual permissions on her suit, which allowed my BrainPal to model where her body would be. She was indeed a meter directly in front of me. I tightbeamed her similar permissions.
    Sorry about tackling you, she said.
    How did you do that? I asked . I mean, how did you know that I was there?
    Are you listening to music?
    I was, I said. So?
    You were singing as you ran.
    Jesus, I said.
    You didn’t know?
    No. But I’m not surprised. When I was a musician they had to turn off my microphone at gigs because I would sing along. I can play any stringed instrument you can name, but I can’t sing worth a damn.
    I noticed that much, Powell said, and I smiled despite myself. Powell motioned back, to the southeast . I came down that direction and started heading this way and began hearing you a couple of klicks back. I waited until I was sure it was you.
    You could have tightbeamed me instead of tackling me.
    It seemed safer this way. If you were on the ground there was less chance of you grabbing your Empee and spraying the brush out of surprise.
    Point. Why are you headed this way, though? The secondary extraction point is not this way.
    No. But the assholes who shot us down are.
    I smiled again . It does not at all surprise me to hear you say that.
    Of course it doesn’t. Just as I’m not surprised to find you on the way there.
    No, I suppose not.
    Shall we go?
    Yes, I said. We both stood up.
    Just to be clear, I plan to kill the shit out of every single one of them we find, Powell said.
    We may want one or two for questioning, I said.
    Your call. You better point out which ones you want ahead of time.
    I will. Also, Ilse?
    Yes, Lieutenant?
    What was your job back on Earth? I’ve always been curious.
    I taught eighth-grade math