The Last Strike: Book 5 of The Last War Series

by Peter Bostrom

  “Okay,” said Sammy. He seemed, at least, to be treating the request seriously. “Who are you looking for?”

  Blair spoke up. “Admiral Yim of the People’s Republic of China Army Navy.”

  Sammy shrugged, glancing to his brother. “Who the heck is that?”

  “The man who shot the President of the United States,” said Blair.

  “Oh, damn,” said Reardon, eyes widening. “The American President is dead?”

  Mattis nodded. “Happened about six hours ago. President Jameson was sworn in…” he checked his communicator. “Oh, not long ago now.”

  Reardon looked back and forth between Mattis, Blair, and Spears, searching. Then he just whistled, settling back in his seat. “Well, ain’t that some shit, hey? Guess I picked the right time to help out.”

  Mattis let the disrespectful comment slide.

  “The point is,” said Blair, “we need to locate Yim. I’ve heard you can do that.”

  Reardon seemed confused. “I don’t even know the guy. Why don’t you ask the Chinese Navy? Or their version of the FBI or whatever?”

  Blair opened her mouth to speak up, but then closed it, clearly thinking better of identifying herself as a federal agent.

  Sammy shrugged. “Yeah. Anyway, he’s not onboard our ship,” he said, a little snark creeping into his demeanor. “A fact I’m sure you were eager to discover for yourselves. What, you think every guy on the run from the law is hiding out in our cargo compartment or something?”

  “You did,” said Spears, “have an Avenir aboard your vessel for some time.”

  Both Sammy and Reardon’s faces fell.

  “Well… not exactly. She was made in one of Specter’s labs. Here. In the present,” said Sammy, bitterly. “But she’s gone now, so there’s no… sense bringing up the past like that. No sense talking about what we cannot change.” He looked right at Mattis. “You know what I’m talking about, yeah?”

  True enough. Mattis hadn’t talked to anyone besides President Schuyler and a few select, trusted Admirals about the exact circumstances of Chuck’s death. How he must have somehow convinced Lily to punch a few holes in the Stennis’s reactor, saving the entire Tiberius system in the process. A deathly quiet came over the room; nobody wanted to mention the elephant in it.

  Finally, Spears broke the spell. “Right. Well, with that in mind, we could really use your help in finding Admiral Yim. Given the politically sensitive nature of this incident, and the fact we’ve somewhat overpaid for your services, I think you owe us that much at least.”

  Reardon stared. “How can we help you?”

  “You’re… shady,” said Spears. “And, from what I’ve read about you, somewhat good at finding people who do not want to be found.”

  “Yeah,” said Sammy, rubbing his hands together. “Look. To be honest, we found Bratta hiding out on some shit hole little world in the Tiberius sector… because, yeah. There are only a few places in the galaxy that are simultaneously developed enough for someone with no survival skills to hide out in, yet underdeveloped enough—or crazy enough—to not have security cameras and monitoring systems everywhere that will, you know, discover you.”

  “Chrysalis, or Tiberius,” said Spears, nodding to Sammy. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Aye,” said Sammy. “And I was thinking… definitely Chrysalis. We have a bunch of leads there. Contacts, you know? People we can talk to, people who we trust and more importantly, trust us. You guys could search for a million years and never find what we can find. If he’s anywhere, he’s there. And we can find him.” He smiled to Reardon. “For more money.”

  “In exchange for more money,” said Reardon, firmly. “And also the engine. And also a uniform and being a hero and all that.”

  Mattis turned the proposal over in his head. It seemed like a fair trade. Reardon had been paid for his services, and with that settled, he’d volunteered to help the Caernarvon find Yim. Given what a chaotic, criminal underworld-type place Chrysalis was, that help would be very valuable.

  It was… odd… convenient, almost, to him that so much of the galaxy’s goings-on involved these two smuggler brothers and Yim. Mattis couldn’t quite shake the nagging doubt that someone was pulling his strings. That he was being guided toward the Reardons, then guided onward to some other, unknowable goal.

  He was getting paranoid in his old age.

  “Of course,” said Spears, a warm smile perfectly hiding her true feelings. She never failed to impress. “I’ll make sure the data is copied over, and then plot us a course.”

  “Okay, but Sammy gets to work on it.”

  “That’s the deal,” said Spears.

  Reardon pointed at Blair. “So, who’s she? Don’t think I haven’t let the fact she’s not in uniform go unnoticed.”

  There didn’t seem to be much reason to hide the truth anymore. “Special Agent Denelle Blair is with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, looking into the president’s murder.”

  Reardon’s face darkened. “Don’t say anything to her,” he said to Sammy. “Cops. Just great…”

  Sammy groaned and rolled his eyes. “Quiet.”

  Yeah, thought Mattis, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut…

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bridge

  HMS Caernarvon

  Z-space

  Mattis broke for food, rest, and another visit to the sickbay. It was a simple affair; bandages and painkillers, nothing too serious. He sat through a shift change, then returned to duty. By the time he got back to the bridge, Blackwood—her arms swathed in bandages, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear—was waiting for him, seated in the CO’s chair.

  “The Captain is having a kip,” said Blackwood, smiling professionally in response to his unasked question. “Even she needs rest sometimes. How are our guests?”

  “Oh, they’re fine,” said Mattis. “Loud-mouthed and bored, only interested in how much coin and hardware they can drag out of the government. But that’s what we have taxpayers for, isn’t it?”

  “They’re troopers, surely.”

  “Mmm. And how are you?”

  Blackwood managed a brave smile. “About as good as you are, I bet. Sore, and I’m going to need a few weeks sick leave when this is all done. But modern technology is wonderful. Biofoam is great.”

  It definitely was. “They say it gives you cancer,” said Mattis.

  “So does beer and steak and everything else good in the world.”

  Fair enough. Mattis moved to stand beside her. “Any word on what the hell happened to us?”

  “The Devil knows, but I don’t think he’s ready to give up his secrets just yet. It’s looking like, at this stage, it’s less likely to be a bomb or trap or something, and more likely that I…” she grimaced sheepishly. “Probably broke whatever futuristic cooling device was keeping those bodies cold.”

  “Oops,” said Mattis.

  Blackwood rubbed her shoulder ruefully. “Hopefully we’ll find out what’s going on when we get to Chrysalis. It seems like the secrets of the galaxy can be found on that tiny little rock.”

  “Mmm. It’s amazing the kinds of things that can happen when you take away government interference and regulations.”

  Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  “I have mixed opinions about it,” said Mattis. “Look. There is a lot to be said for liberty and doing what you want. But a key component of that is the need for structure, order, and fairness. You can buy anything on Chrysalis—anything. But this is the critical thing… just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.” He hesitated. “It’s great in theory. Not so great in practice.”

  “Right.” Blackwood smiled. “You should know, your pilot—Corrick—is out of surgery and it looks like it was a rousing success.”

  Anger.

  Some part of him hoped that Corrick hadn’t made it. It was a terrible thought to think, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll s
ee her as soon as I can,” he said, forcing the dark thoughts out of his head. “Chrysalis was the first place we saw the mutants, and she was abducted there, yet managed to escape. She might be able to help us.”

  Blackwood didn’t seem convinced. “It might have to wait until after we dock,” she said. “Corrick is in good hands… and she’s strong… but she just underwent brain surgery. She can’t be briefed right now.”

  Begrudgingly, Mattis conceded. “Hmmph. No need for me to go poking my nose around, getting involved in things I can’t fix or change.”

  “Good show,” said Blackwood, approvingly.

  Hours ticked away in relative silence as the HMS Caernarvon sailed on through the multi-spectral hue that was Z-space, where the coordinates of the strange dimension did not match up evenly with the coordinates of real space. The travel time, therefore, to places like Chrysalis varied wildly; sometimes a week, sometimes a few days, sometimes much shorter or longer.

  Throughout the trip, doubts chewed at him. Maybe, despite Blackwood’s misgivings, he should go see Lieutenant Corrick right away during the transit. Spectre had warned him of a threat coming. In Mattis’s grief these last months, he had nearly forgotten the interchange. He certainly hadn’t had the balls to actually speak to Corrick about it face to face. He kicked himself now for not having thought it through—made any conjectures.

  Now the thought of Spectre gnawed at the back of his mind. And Corrick did know the terrain of Chrysalis… Mattis resolved to see her as soon as he was able. He was going to swallow his pride or grief or whatever was paralyzing him in that kid’s presence.

  “Commander Blackwood,” said one of their bridge officers, “we are coming up on Chrysalis.”

  Well, that was fast. No time, then. “Should we get Spears up here?”

  “Good idea. I’ll wake her up.” She touched her radio. “Blackwood to Spears.”

  There was a pause—an uncharacteristically long pause which suggested that Captain Spears was asleep—and then she came through, her voice just a little foggier than usual. “Spears here. Send it.”

  “We are coming up on Chrysalis, Ma’am. We’re reading a lot of traffic around the asteroid, but nothing too heavy. Thought you should know.”

  “Put the kettle on and make sure it’s piping hot, I’m on my way.”

  Mattis smiled as Blackwood closed the connection. “I think, sometimes, that that woman drinks far too much tea.”

  Blackwood put on a mock look of horror. “If she heard you say that, she’d throw you out the nearest airlock. The Captain treats her hot beverages very seriously.”

  Clearly.

  The casement to the Caernarvon’s bridge opened and Spears stepped through, flanked by a pair of Marines. Despite having obviously slept in her uniform, neither it nor she looked any the worse for wear.

  “Captain on the bridge,” crowed the ship’s bosun. The words still felt alien, not referring to him as they were. He hadn’t heard them since… a lifetime ago.

  “Report,” said Spears.

  Blackwood vacated Spears’s seat, moving to stand in her customary spot to the side of the chair. “We’re two minutes away from a Z-space translation into real-space. It should put us at the designated arrival point for Chrysalis.” She paused a moment. “We tried to call ahead to signal our intention, but it looks like they didn’t pick up, per usual.”

  Typical Chrysalis. They hated the military there—all militaries equally—so the fact that whoever was responsible for manning their long-range comms was not answering the call was not entirely unexpected. If they even had someone doing that job at all.

  “Not to bother,” said Spears. “They’ll talk to us when we arrive, I’m sure.”

  “That or they’ll just do nothing and let their gravity mine field destroy us.”

  “Always a possibility,” said Spears, as comfortably as though she was discussing an afternoon thunderstorm.

  The minutes ticked by. Bridge activity picked up, with the crew working to bring the ship back into reality. With a surge of power, the multicolored rainbow world of Z-space was replaced with a black canvas dotted with stars. There, not too far distant from their ship, was the massive asteroid that was Chrysalis.

  Immediately, alarms and warning chimes rang out around the bridge.

  “Radar contact,” said one of the bridge officers. “Belay that, multiple contacts! I’m reading seven—no, nine ship contacts. They’re close, too.”

  “We’re being painted,” said Blackwood. “They’re locking us up.”

  Damn. What the hell had they gotten themselves into?

  “Identify those ships,” said Spears, raising her voice to be heard over the din. “Quickly, Commander Blackwood, if you please!”

  Blackwood worked at her XO’s console. “They’re squarking IFF, translating now.” She frantically scrolled through her screens. “Those… those are Chinese ships! And they’re about to fire!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bridge

  HMS Caernarvon

  Z-space

  Mattis hadn’t seen so many Chinese ships since the war. All around them, in a rough hemisphere, were nine Chinese warships, their guns menacingly pointed directly at them.

  Felt just like old times.

  “Mattis?” asked Spears, cautiously. “Opinion. You’re the one with the most experience facing down the Chinese here. Should we open hailing frequencies and speak with these doubtfully friendly new acquaintances, or should we charge our Z-space drive and beat a hasty retreat?”

  So many memories. Memories of a war that took place before almost everyone in the room, save Captain Spears, was born.

  “Lemme talk to them,” he said, taking in a deep, calming breath. Anger rose in him and he fought it. That war was long over. “Yim and I were able to develop a rapport despite our… history. I think I can do the same here.”

  Spears gestured to her comms officer who opened a channel.

  “This is Captain Jack Mattis”—he still said it slowly each time to make sure to use the correct rank—“of the United States Navy,” he said, putting on his best captain’s voice and forcing the past out of his mind. He had a job to do, here and now, and it wouldn’t do him any good for his mind to be somewhere else.

  “I’m here with Captain Pippa Spears of the Royal Navy, and we’re investigating the assassination of the President of the United States, as well as gathering intelligence about the Avenir and the man known as Spectre.” He smiled to himself, even though the audio-only transmission wouldn’t show it, it always helped. “You fine folk seem to be surprisingly confrontational about this. Is there a blockade of Chrysalis in place we were not aware of? Some kind of tax problem, maybe?”

  “A tax problem, naturally,” muttered Blackwood, soft enough that he hoped they didn’t hear.

  There was no immediate reply. Mattis started to wonder if the transmission had gone through, but then a woman’s voice came through in heavily accented English. “This is Captain Mei-Yin Long of the People’s Republic of China Army Navy, Commanding Officer of the Tiantai Shan. Please be advised that we are currently engaged in an internal matter on behalf of the People’s Republic. You are hereby ordered to engage your Z-space engines and translate to an area of real-space no closer than one hundred AU away from Chrysalis station.”

  Not a tax problem, then. “Tiantai Shan, solid copy on your last,” he said, carefully acknowledging that he had heard it, but not that he was about to comply. “Politely request that you allow us 48 hours to conduct our investigation on Chrysalis, and we remind you once again that this is a Royal Navy vessel. We have no quarrel with you, Tianai Shan. Just let us go about the asteroid. We won’t get in your way.”

  Blackwood cut in. “They’re opening their missile bay doors,” she said, her voice charged with energy. “They could fire at any second.”

  It was a bluff. The Chinese knew that British sensors could detect missile bay door openings; it was the equivalent of a bank robber waving a
gun around. Shooting wasn’t their objective. “They’re just sending us a message,” he said.

  “Caernarvon, Tianti Shan actual. State the nature of your investigation.”

  He muted the call. “What should I tell them?”

  “The truth,” said Spears.

  So he did. “Tianti Shan, this is the Caernarvon. We are seeking Admiral Yim and have compelling evidence which suggests that he is involved in the assassination of the President of the United States of America.”

  There was another pause. Mattis could only speculate as to why. Then, finally, Captain Long’s voice returned. “Do you have a warrant?”

  He almost laughed out loud. Fortunately he kept his tongue in check. “Jurisdiction on Chrysalis is unestablished,” he said.

  “Not in the eyes of the People’s Republic,” Long shot back. “We, after all, installed the gravity mines that protect this place.”

  That was true enough. “Well, we do have a sworn officer aboard—a special agent of the Californian field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who is currently investigating President Schuyler’s murder. I’m certain she has the right to investigate Chrysalis on our behalf, especially given the highly unusual nature of recent events. All with your consent, of course.”

  Captain Long snorted derisively down the line. “You have a special agent from California? As in, Earth? Not the intergalactic branch?”

  “Believe it or not, we do. What do you have?” asked Mattis, his smile wavering slightly. “If you don’t have a sworn officer aboard, maybe we can lend you ours.”

  Spears hissed quietly. “What are you doing? Taunting them?”

  He only smiled.

  “Caernarvon, Tianti Shan. Permission is granted to dock with Chrysalis station and complete your investigation here. You have 48 hours.”