“As was typical, when one civilization met another, there was bloodshed. And some of our finest women and men, members of the United States Navy, stood ready to shield us from this cost. Two of our starships were lost, with substantial casualties, and fifteen strike craft. Every ship involved in the battle suffered some kind of damage, and every ship involved, regardless of size, has crewmen being buried here today.
“Yet not a single person who stood on this planet during these calamitous events was harmed. Despite the debris falling to Earth, despite the attempts of the aliens to destroy us…not a single civilian on our world was injured. We were shielded by our service personnel in orbit—shielded, in some cases, very literally. They paid in blood, willingly, so that we did not have to.”
The President paused. The only noises were the wind moving through the grass, and the distant crack of rifles as another ceremony was getting underway.
“Unfortunately,” said President Schuyler, “the Sino-American War was not the last war we will have to fight, but at least, this time, we’ll fight it together. I would like to acknowledge our allies, the People’s Republic of China, for their brave contributions to our cause, as well as their losses. For Captain Shao. For Admiral Yim. For all they are burying today, and other days.
“And I would also like to honor Captain Caitlin Salt of the Royal Space Navy for her heroic actions, actions which, directly, cost her her life. So rarely is so much asked of so humble a command, but Captain Salt showed us all the strength of mankind. Our courage.”
Another pause. Mattis closed his eyes, thinking of Salt. Thinking of Shao. It had been weeks, and yet the events of the battle seemed to be just yesterday. It was difficult to believe they were all gone.
“We will bury more souls in the future,” said President Schuyler. “I know this. We have won a battle, but not a war. We do not know where these attackers came from, or if more remain, so we must prepare for the possibility that more war is coming. That strife and conflict will rear its head once more. No one can tell me otherwise. But I am dedicated, as your Commander in Chief, to ensuring that we defeat this threat, should it ever return. And we shall meet them with our allies, with new weapons, and with an endless determination and upright zeal.”
She lowered her piece of paper and seemed, almost, to be looking directly at him. “The enemy may come, but they will not find us wanting.”
The crowd clapped. Mattis did as well, politely. He’d been at so many of these funerals. His hands hurt. But this one, this one he clapped louder for. This one was special.
This one was for Commander Jeremy Pitt.
More words were said. Wreaths were laid. Mattis did his duty, quietly and respectfully waiting for the job to be done. If Senator Pitt was here, burying his son, there was no sign of him.
With the coffin lowered into the ground and the rifles fired, Mattis took his coat and prepared to leave.
“Just a moment.” A man wearing dark glasses, a fancy suit, and a conspicuous earpiece held up his hand. “The President wants to speak with you.”
Does she, indeed? Mattis had seen her at so many of these dedications—they were called dedications, often, because there was no body to bury—but they had not yet spoken. From the crowd, she emerged, flanked by two towering bodyguards. Surprisingly, she stepped away from the guards and, with simply the two of them, she led him away from the crowd, holding the umbrella over both of them.
“Madam President,” said Mattis. “We finally meet in person.”
“We do,” said President Schuyler, inclining her head respectfully. “I wanted to take a moment to thank you, personally, Admiral, for everything you did during these tragic and tumultuous events. An excellent campaign, well fought.”
Had it been? Mattis couldn’t say the same, but he knew he had to maintain a certain level of politeness. “If you say so, Madam President. A pity about the…secretiveness of our allies, and their reluctance to help the Paul Revere, right when they had saved us all.”
“Things,” said President Schuyler simply, “are more complicated than they seem. I share your pain, Admiral, and believe me, I am investigating with all the resources at my disposal.”
“I hope that’s enough,” said Mattis. Maybe some of his disappointed sarcasm made it through. Maybe.
She considered, folding her clipboard under her arm. “I understand that it might have seemed,” she said, at length, “that I was not as supportive of your efforts as I could have been. That, at certain times, such as when your ship was at Ganymede, I did not help you as much as you might think I could have.”
Mattis kept his mouth shut, and she obviously seemed to take that as what it was.
“I couldn’t send ships. Simply couldn’t. And it turned out to be a good thing, too, because Earth needed them. But I got Spectre to deliver something else. The gravity pulse device which, ultimately, won the day.” President Schuyler looked away for a moment, to the sea of white gravestones. “I hope that’s worth something to you.”
Again, Mattis said nothing.
“You should know,” said President Schuyler, clicking her tongue, “that Senator Pitt hasn’t forgiven you. He’s assembled a veritable army of lawyers from six states to take you down. To get you thrown off the Midway, off the service, and even attempt to get you deported to Canada, if you can believe, under some strange, archaic law that’s been on the books since 1831.”
“I’m not afraid of Senator Pitt,” said Mattis.
President Schuyler affixed him with a firm stare. “You should be.”
He said nothing, and she waited.
“Is there anything else, ma’am?” asked Mattis, curious.
“There is,” said President Schuyler, seemingly at odds with how to say it. “The lone alien ship that escaped.”
“Yes,” said Mattis. “I do recall.”
“Two days ago, the USS Guam tracked it down and, with twenty other ships, destroyed it.” She weighed her next words carefully. “Under my explicit orders, they were told to disable it using conventional weapons fire only—no nukes. No gravity pulse weapons. Accordingly, substantial wreckage was recovered.”
Potentially a huge source of intelligence. Or technology. Or—a thought hit him like a thunderbolt. “You’ve seen them,” said Mattis, suddenly understanding what she was going on about. “You recovered an alien body.”
“That’s just the thing,” said President Schuyler, her blond hair swaying in the gentle breeze. “They did tests on the most intact corpse recovered, which showed that parts of the mitochondrial DNA of these beings… Well, it suggests that they’re…” She reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “They’re human. Human, but from approximately one thousand years in the future… near as we can tell from extrapolating from the changes in their DNA. They’re as far removed from us, and as close to us, as we are to people who lived in the Middle Ages.”
“They’re from,” asked Mattis skeptically, “the future, ma’am?”
She adjusted her tie. “I wouldn’t be telling you this if the best available evidence we have didn’t support it. To be honest, much of the science is beyond me, but I have been told other parts of the DNA are human as well, but highly corrupted. Some of it is totally unrecognizable. The significance of this is not yet known at this time.” She withdrew a thin tablet, handing it to him.
Displayed on the screen, washed out, slightly out of focus, was the image of a humanoid form labeled Sample A. Black and blue and sickly green, as though crafted out of rotten mold. Its skin was mottled, misshapen, deformed; it resembled a monster from an old zombie flick, skin drooping and withered, teeth jutting out at strange angles. Horrifying to look at but distinctly, in some way, human.
President Schuyler pocketed the tablet again.
He let that information sink in. Humans…from the future? That looked like that? The mere fact the President had voiced this seemingly ludicrous conclusion to him, shown him the picture, proved that she, on some level, trus
ted him. Trusted him not to run to the press with this information. Or just laugh and laugh and laugh.
That trust should be returned. If only slightly. What she had said was true—the gravity device had allowed them to defeat the aliens, in the end. “Thank you for the weapon,” said Mattis, inclining his head respectfully. “That gadget turned the tide.”
A ghost of a smile. “You’re welcome. Good job out there, Admiral,” said President Schuyler.
Mattis turned to leave, but she reached out and touched his arm.
“One more thing.” Her expression tightened. “I mentioned the possibility of war. I’m saying it to everyone I can, in vague terms, but that ship, Mattis? The one that got away? It sent a signal. Outbound. Deep into the void. It was a Z-space transmission, but it didn’t have any words. It was something else.”
“What was it?” asked Mattis, suddenly uncomfortable in his uniform, as though it were a little too tight.
“It was a Z-space beacon. The same kind we use to navigate. It was a rallying cry.” Her eyes caught his, as though trying to communicate a serious matter. “More are coming. I’m sure of it.”
Maybe it was the cool air, or maybe it wasn’t, but Mattis felt a distinct chill run down his spine. “I…can’t help but agree.”
“Mmm. So you see, Admiral Mattis, I am confident we will have further need for your skills in the future.” She gestured for her bodyguards to come, and then, wrapping her coat around her to shield herself from the rain, the President departed.
Mattis wandered back to Commander Pitt’s grave. By the time he got there, everyone else had disappeared. Gone back to their lives.
He caught a brief glimpse of Senator Pitt, in the distance, about to get into a waiting cab. Their eyes met, and Mattis felt the man’s gaze burn into him. The palpable hatred. The barely contained fury. Then he got into the car, slammed the door, and Mattis was alone.
The wind picked up slightly. He, too, pulled his coat tighter around him and, after a pause, made his way toward his car. Chuck was there, cradling a beautiful baby in his hands. Jack, his grandson, who he was just getting to know.
The sight should have made him smile, but the farther he got away from the cemetery, the more he could not shake a strange feeling that, every step of the way, he was being watched.
Chapter Seventy-Five
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