The Last Strike: Book 5 of The Last War Series

by Peter Bostrom

  “And you know I don’t like that. My disapproval is profound, Commander.”

  Spears spoke up. “Well, I’m afraid she’s going to have to stay up here for a little bit longer yet. But never fear, I’m on my way. Stand by.”

  Doctor Manda called over one of the nurses and had her put a kettle on. By the time Spears arrived, a steaming mug of English Breakfast was waiting for her.

  “Captain on deck,” said Mattis.

  Spears raised a curious eye at the crowd of people, along with the computer equipment scattered around. Finally, her gaze fell upon Yim. “Admiral Yim, I presume,” she said, extending a hand. “You’re a popular man these days. And a difficult man to get hold of.”

  Yim took it and shook firmly. “I think my reputation has preceded me. And while it’s true that I’m somewhat…sought after…by the People’s Republic of China Army Navy, I doubt very much that I would enjoy their hospitality.” He gestured toward the computer. “And at least, now, I can prove to them that what happened to me was entirely unjust. Hell, I might even be able to get my command back.”

  “I’ll testify at any hearing,” said Spears, her eyes briefly flicking to Corrick. “Or at least send in a favorable report. For what good that will do.”

  “Eh, it’s fine, Captain,” said Corrick, reaching up and putting her hands behind her head. “Turns out I’m a doppelgänger.”

  Spears stiffened slightly. “We have a clone aboard?”

  “That is correct,” said Mattis, “but we’ve confirmed as best we can that her brain is the original, and while she’s seemingly got a new body, it’s… her. For lack of a better word.”

  Spears didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly, she seemed to accept it. “If you say so, then that’s enough for me.” She smoothed down her uniform. “Very well. What did you need me down here for?”

  “To take your blooooood,” said Corrick, waving her arms around like some kind of ghost. “Woooo…”

  Spears affixed Corrick with a dark, piercing look.

  “… Captain,” said Corrick, sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m… on a lot of painkiller medication right now.”

  “I see,” said Spears, evenly. She turned to Mattis. “Jack?”

  “We need,” said Mattis, “to test your blood—and the blood of your senior staff in descending order of priority—to ensure that you’re not clones. It’s easier than checking everyone for nanoprobes with the machine, and as we’ve established, it can lead to some… interesting results.”

  Spears didn’t seem impressed. “How long is this going to take?”

  “Not long,” said Mattis. “A few minutes tops.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m not a clone. Now, if you excuse me, I am returning to the bridge so that I can oversee the bickering between—”

  “I’m afraid,” said Doctor Manda, firmly, “I cannot allow that.”

  Spears’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “I’m sorry?”

  “Captain Spears, it is my recommendation as the CMO of this vessel—a position I know you treat with extreme gravity—that every single human being aboard be tested using this machine. Given that the effect of nanobots can result in mental instability, it is within my authority to order you to remain here until the tests are complete.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Spears, scowling more darkly than an incoming storm. “Are you quite finished?”

  “I will be,” said Doctor Manda, standing firm. “When your test is complete, Captain.”

  For a moment, Mattis thought Spears was going to lose her temper. A strange, tense silence fell over everything as all eyes fell upon Spears.

  “Captain?” asked Mattis, carefully.

  With a long sigh, Spears rolled up her arm, squinting angrily and looking away. “Just bloody do it, then,” she said, in obvious discomfort. “Fff….”

  “I’m sorry,” said Doctor Manda, sticking the needle in. Spears visibly flinched. Then the plunger was withdrawn and the blood added to the disk.

  The machine worked, buzzing and whirring, and then it clicked, displaying its answer.

  MITOCHONDRIAL MATCH:

  NEGATIVE

  “Now,” said Spears, taking in a deep breath and quickly recovering her composure. “If you are quite finished…”

  “Very good, Captain,” said Doctor Manda. “You’re free to go. Please order Commander Blackwood down here; we have to test her next.”

  Angrily, Spears touched her radio. “Captain Spears to bridge.”

  “This is Blackwood.”

  “Commander, your presence is requested in the infirmary,” said Spears. “I’ll be back up to the bridge in a jiffy. How goes the banter?” She grunted with frustration. “Are they still threatening to shoot each other?”

  “I’m afraid,” said Blackwood, “that you have bigger problems.”

  “What’s that?” asked Spears, her frustration evaporating.

  Silence. And then Blackwood’s voice shifted ever-so-slightly, becoming one that Mattis knew much too well. “Do you know how easy it is to hide a British accent aboard a Royal warship?” said Spectre.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Infirmary

  HMS Caernarvon

  Z-Space

  Mattis knew immediately who was speaking.

  “Motherfucker,” he said, the word slipping out like venom from his lips. Spectre… he had followed him even here, to the Caernarvon. Right under his nose the whole time.

  “A slightly different motherfucker,” said Blackwood-Spectre, her voice light and chirpy. “I’m sorry for the repeated deceptions, Captain Mattis…” she stressed the word. “But you do make it all too easy.”

  He took stock of the faces around the room. Spears, Doctor Manda, Yim, Reardon, Corrick, Blair.

  Spears was stoic as ever, but the tightness of her eyebrows revealed the effort she was taking to contain herself. Doctor Manda looked like she’d swallowed a fly. Yim’s hand was resting on his sidearm, idly fingering the grip. Corrick, still looking like death warmed up, had her hands drawn into tight fists, like she was going to punch through the bulkheads to get to Spectre. Blair’s hand shook, her face drawn back as though he’d put a gun to her face.

  But he could only focus on Blackwood. On Spectre.

  At least they had a way of testing humans for clone status. But of course, it had been too little, too late. Typical. “So,” Mattis asked. “Where’s the real Blackwood? Or have you been playing her forever?”

  “Not forever,” said Spectre, humming quietly. “Just long enough to get what I wanted.” She laughed ever so lightly. “Which I’m guessing is a little something that’s eluded you, even to this moment.”

  He shrugged. “Gotta be honest—who knows anymore? There are so many of you, and so many of you that are dead and gone, that it’s impossible to keep track of what you limey bastards want on any particular given day. So, is this where I need to come marching up to the bridge and put a bullet in your head?”

  Spectre blew out a long sigh that crackled into the microphone. “Why are you always so violent, Mattis? Why can’t the two of us just get along?”

  Get along? “Maybe,” said Mattis, “you might know a bit more about cooperation between people if you didn’t murder everyone who crossed your path.”

  “Yes, well,” said Spectre, with mock sincerity. “Life is full of regrets. Like this bridge crew here… so young, and yet, so brittle.”

  Spears looked livid.

  “Who’s Spectre?” whispered Blair.

  “Spectre is a… an…” Spears struggled with the right word. “An aborted tadpole. Some nut who’s able to open portals to the future, and who, despite all our best efforts, just won’t die.”

  Mattis leaned up against the foot of Corrick’s bed, idly fiddling with his radio. “So I’m guessing we’re trapped in the infirmary,” he said, baiting Spectre for information, filling in the gaps where he could. “That’s why you waited until Spears came down here.”

&nbs
p; “Oh no,” said Spectre. “No no no. Nothing at all like that. You wound me, Mattis.”

  “Oh, believe me,” he said, voice filling with dark promise. “I will.”

  Spectre just laughed. “But, yes. I’m actually finished with my job up here. And I don’t see the harm in filling you in; there’s a certain enjoyment that comes with telling poor unfortunate souls about the things that frustrate them but they cannot change.” She clicked her tongue. “Not sure if you felt it or not, but we’ve left Z-space. The Chinese are here. They’re angry. Stupid, but angry. What they don’t understand is that we… I… am pulling the strings here. I’m going to have the ship fire a few rounds, then tap a few buttons on Blackwood’s little gizmo—oh, it is so very quaint, isn’t it?—and then… pop goes the Chinese warship.”

  Blowing up some warships. Hardly something that fit Spectre’s grand vision.

  “That’s it?” he asked, probing for more information. “So you kill a couple of hundred Chinese, and then frame us for it?”

  “Frame you? Oh, Mattis. Tragic, poor, small-minded Mattis, still thinking everything I do is about him, or that I care about his fate in any way.”

  “Okay,” said Mattis flatly. “So what’s the game plan here, Spectre? Enlighten me.”

  “Well, first of all, I genuinely don’t care about you in the slightest.” Mattis could practically feel Spectre’s nasty smile down the line. “Nor about the Chinese, nor about killing them. They are bags of meat sitting between me and something I want. I just need their engines; their lives are of no consequence to me, one way or the other, although I will confess that erasing them would probably be much easier than trying to unravel whatever foolish scheme they will no doubt use to try and trick me. But at present, they are merely a physical thing between me and something I desire. ”

  Of course. The Chinese engines warped Z-space just so, and could be used not only to travel quickly through the strange, non-Euclidean dimension, but also to open portals to the future. Apparently precursors to the future technology the Avenir used to travel back to their past, his present. “I think I see where this is going.”

  “Do you?” Spectre snorted. “The only reason you’re here is because I needed you to find those space-rats, the Reardons, to track down my Chinese bait for me.” Admiral Yim stared at the floor, breathing hard. “That’s right, my dear Admiral Yim. Bait. That’s all you’re good for. And magnificent bait you were. The Chinese high command would have risked anything to track you down and make a public, gruesome example of you—a way for them to save face given that one of their own killed the American president. However, the slippery bastard you are, even I couldn’t find you. But you, Mr. Reardon. I knew you would be able to track him down, if only I could drag you out of your pathetic wallowing—”

  “—So,” Mattis steamrolled over the endless gloating, “the killing of the President, the mirror on the hull, opening the cryo-chamber on that refrigeration unit, everything… all of it was just so that we would find the Reardons?”

  Reardon let out a harsh belly laugh. “I’m flattered you went through so much just to meet me. So why couldn’t you find Yim yourself, you stupid son of a bitch?”

  Spectre sipped in air tightly through her teeth. “Because,” she deliberately cooed, “Unlike some, I have no time to roll around in the sludge with trash and whores.”

  “You fucking bastard,” Reardon muttered. “You nearly killed my brother—”

  Spectre sighed loudly. “This has been a lovely chat, and I must thank you all for accomplishing my aims so perfectly and obliviously.

  “You have been a most loyal hunting dog, Mattis. You deserve a treat. And you too, Yim, as soon as my engines are delivered to me. Oh, and your ship, Captain Spears. That, I cannot do without.”

  “Sod off,” she spat.

  Mattis straightened his back. “Now hear this. You’ve played your game, you’ve had your fun, but I want to be totally clear… if you attack those PRC sailors, I promise you, I won’t kill you. You’ll get to see trial. You’ll suffer. You’ll spend the rest of your days trapped in a two meter by two meter box, with a much smaller box to shit in, and that will be your life until the end of time.”

  “Thank you for promising not to do something you have no power to do.”

  “And while you’re rotting, we will track down the real Spectre—the source of all these goddamn clones—and we will absolutely end him. You might be a copy, but you feel pain. You feel anger. You don’t want to die.”

  “Maybe,” said Spectre. “Although, you underestimate my resolve. No, I think I’ll just take these Chinese engines, go to Earth and open up a portal to a future timeline, and then my job will be complete. That’s all I was created to do… and that’s all my life’s purpose is. Why would I abandon it just because you ask me to? Or threaten me?”

  Mattis stared blankly at the bulkhead. He had seen one such portal open before; the shockwave had destroyed most of the surrounding system, including a gas giant and all its attendant moons. Earth wouldn’t stand a chance. The moon wouldn’t stand a chance. All the ships in orbit wouldn’t stand a chance. “But if you destroy Earth,” he said through clenched teeth, “what will that do to your allies in the future? They won’t exist.”

  “You’re assuming a lot about temporal mechanics,” said Spectre, evenly. “At least try to understand this: why would the Avenir send ships into the past if the past was immutable and could not be altered?”

  Silence.

  “Plus, I know something you don’t. Which I will tell you while I wait for these Chinese vermin to pull into a more favorable position for me to tear them apart. Without Earth, there will be no Avenir. At least, that faction of the Avenir that have attempted to stop me. All that will remain in my timeline of choice will be … me. And my army. And those I rule. I know, because I’ve been there. My actions are … foreordained. This is destiny, Admiral.”

  More silence. Mattis couldn’t believe his ears. The implausibility of it all. It was science fiction. But here he was, listening to the bad-guy monologue, having seen first-hand the atrocities of Spectre, the almost incomprehensible technology of the Avenir, and the existential threat to humanity that technology in the hands of Spectre posed.

  “And now,” said Spectre, triumphant. “You understand me. Goodbye, Mattis. The death of your Earth will fuel the resurrection of my own.”

  The line went dead. Mattis let his hand radio hand fall limp.

  But one thought gave him just an edge of hope.

  Spectre had goaded him. Mocked him. Insulted him. In the past, he had simply… been completely nonchalant towards Mattis and his general existence. That could only mean one thing.

  This time, Spectre was worried.

  “Well,” said Spears, briskly, her anger and despondency resolved in the face of a clear enemy to confront. “I think we have a job to do. Take my ship back before Spectre uses it to blow up Earth.”

  “I’ll stay with my brother, and Corrick,” said Reardon. “Spectre will probably want to take the Aerostar if he can.”

  Probably. “Take care of your brother.” Mattis mulled it over in his head. “Spectre isn’t playing,” he said. “Never is. He-she-whatever knows we’ll do whatever we can to take the ship back. He’ll be prepared no matter which way we go. Can’t even imagine the kinds of shitty traps he’s got lying in wait for us. And maybe even some of the crew, too. Who knows.”

  Spears fingered her radio. “I can have a tac-team of Royal Marines up there in forty seconds.”

  Something in his gut told him that wouldn’t work. “Spectre knows what Blackwood knows, including how you’re going to play the game. He’ll have something ready for the Marines, I promise you.”

  “Okay,” said Spears, nodding sharply. “So, what if we cut through the bulkheads? Using explosives, if need be? Bypass anything he could trap?”

  “We don’t know that that would work, and besides, he’d know we were coming because of all the blasts.”

&n
bsp; Spears looked around the room “So we can’t use anyone else. All right, what if we don’t make any radio calls and we sort it out ourselves? We don’t go through the ship’s passages. We go outside. Onto the outer hull.”

  “But,” said Yim, scratching his head. “The bridge is right at the center of the ship. How can we get there from the outside?”

  Spears tapped her nose. She looked angry, furious even, but was obviously suppressing it under a huge wave of tea-fueled resolve. “You let me worry about that. For now, let’s go fetch some space suits and prepare to take a walk. Doctor Manda, continue to test the crew before they can join—and that’s an order.” She scowled. “I would rather not have another crewman reveal themselves to be bloody Spectre while we’re out stomping around on the hull.”

  “Hope this trip in the suit ends up better than my last one,” said Mattis.

  For a brief moment there was a relaxed, pleasant moment as Spears chuckled, and then the General Quarters alarm once more rang throughout the ship.

  Spectre had engaged the Chinese.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Port side external-access airlock

  HMS Caernarvon

  Empty space

  Doctor Manda left to take care of Corrick. The pilot looked entirely exhausted—like she had been about to fall asleep, despite the serious situation.

  Given her injuries, she could not help them. It was best she stay under proper medical supervision, which conveniently meant that the four suits typically found in the standard British airlock would mean they had one for everyone.

  About time they had some good luck.

  “Okay,” said Mattis, taking in a deep breath of recycled air as he stepped into the airlock. “Quick check in. Everyone ready?”

  “Locked and pressurized,” said Spears. “I bypassed the decompression alarm. Spectre shouldn’t know we’re outside until it’s too late.”

  “Ready to go,” said Blair. “Just tell me there won’t be any low gravity…”