All You Need Is Kill

“That’s right.”

“After the war…” Rita sounded just a little sad.

“Hey, this war will be over someday. No doubt about it. You and I’ll see to that.”

“You’re right. I’m sure you will.” Rita took the ground beans and spread them on the cloth covering the funnel. “You have to steam them first.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Completely changes the flavor. Something an old friend once taught me. Don’t know how it works, but he was right.”

She moistened the freshly ground beans with a little not-quite boiling water. Cream-colored bubbles hissed to life where the water touched the grounds. A striking aroma woven of threads bitter, sweet, and sour filled the air surrounding the table.

“Still smell weird?”

“It smells wonderful.”

Using a circular motion, Rita carefully poured in the water. Drop by drop, a glistening brown liquid began filling the steel mug waiting beneath.

A thin line of steam had begun to rise from the mug when an earsplitting sound pierced the thick walls and blast-hardened glass of the Sky Lounge. The tile floor shook. Rita and I were on the ground in a heartbeat. Our eyes met.

There was no chandelier tinkle of shattered glass, only a sharp concussive sound, as though someone had thrown a thick telephone book onto the ground. Spiderweb fractures spread through the window glass, a sand-colored javelin sticking from the middle of the web. Deep purple liquid crystal seeped from the cracks and onto the floor below.

Too late, sirens began to blare across the base. Three plumes of smoke rose outside the window. The water off the coast had turned a livid green.

“An-an attack?” My voice was shaking. Probably my body too. In all 159 loops there had never been a surprise attack. The battle was supposed to start after we landed on Kotoiushi Island.

A second and third round impacted the window. The entire glass pane bulged inward but somehow held. Cracks crisscrossed the window. Pinpricks of light swam before my eyes.

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.