The Last Champion: Book 4 of The Last War Series

by Nick Webb

  Interesting stuff.

  “Who are you?” said a voice, near enough and loud enough to make Bratta jump. A guard had slipped inside the room without him noticing. Smith hadn’t seen him either, judging by his shocked expression. “This is a restricted area.”

  Smith regained his composure instantly, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s just that the door comes loose sometimes and my buddy and I like to come in here for a smoke, you know? I was going to report it, but you know what they’re like.”

  The guard didn’t seem to buy it. “What’s your identification number?”

  Smith casually held up his hands. “Hey, sorry. We’re going, we’re going. Jeez, a guy can’t even get a smoke anymore. Typical.”

  “No,” said the guard, moving his hand to the grip of his pistol. “Identification number. Now.”

  “Okay,” said Smith, groaning slightly as he reached behind his back and pushed himself off the wall. “It’s—” Fwip.

  It took Bratta a second to realize what had happened. Smith had fired a gun from behind his back. A pistol with an advanced-looking, possibly noise-cancelling suppressor. Amazing stuff. Even modern suppressors turned a gun from being very loud into only sort-of-loud, but this one was no noisier than a bird chirp.

  The guard slumped down with a low groan as a hole in his chest started to bloom red. Smith glanced around, cautiously, then shot him three more times in the same spot. Fwip fwip fwip.

  “W-was that necessary?” asked Bratta as blood began to pool below the unfortunate guy. “You killed him!”

  “Either that, or he raised the alarm.” Smith replaced the pistol cautiously. “Only four rounds left. Not worth a reload.” Then, to Bratta, “you got what you need?”

  The drive was full. Even if there was more, he had no way of transporting it. “Ye-… yes.”

  “Great, let’s get out of here.”

  Smith made for the exit, casually humming to himself. Bratta couldn’t take his eyes off the dead guy. One moment alive, and then…

  “Bratta,” said Smith, gently but with an edge of command to it. “We gotta go.”

  And they did. Bratta withdrew his device, slipped it into his pocket, and made his way to the exit.

  An alarm began to wail all around them, but if Smith heard it, he gave no sign. Just continued to walk, as though it were nothing; a false alarm, or a fire drill he’d heard a million times before.

  Bratta did his best to keep up, hoping his nervousness wouldn’t get them all killed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Bridge

  HMS Caernarvon

  Gas Giant Erebus

  Vellini System

  Tiberius Sector

  With all their fighters recalled, there wasn’t anything for Mattis to do but sit and wait for the Z-Space beacon to indicate where their target had ended up.

  Fortunately that was something he was good at. It was something he always told junior officers and people who wanted to command their own ship someday: real war, real battles, were one percent adrenaline and ninety-nine percent mind numbing boredom.

  Minutes turned into hours. A shift change came and went; Blackwood swapped out for a junior officer, and most of the bridge crew did as well. Spears simply took a fresh cup of tea and powered through. Mattis, still running on nervous energy from the battle aboard the space station, didn’t need anything at all.

  Finally, an amber light blinked on Spears’s wrist computer.

  “The beacon is transmitting,” she said. “The hostile ship appears to be…” her eyes widened. “Good Lord. Over Vellini.”

  Mattis groaned. “Good Lord indeed. A billion people down below. And the US Navy’s most important shipyards.”

  “A planet,” she continued, “where they just might be able to actually hide and avoid detection. You know how many ships go in and out of orbit there? It’s the biggest hub in this whole sector. Hell, this whole quadrant.”

  “Well at least they’re close,” said Mattis. “We can be there in short order.”

  She nodded. “Vellini is a world of junk. This whole system is used as a garbage disposal area for various governments and corporations, given its concentration of recycling centers and the shipyards. Starship parts, medical waste, construction debris, you name it. The refuse of a galactic civilization all stored in one place. Easy place to hide.”

  He thought they fired garbage into the sun. “But why come here?” he asked.

  Spears shrugged. “The garbage?”

  “No, the ship. The Forgotten’s Avenir ship.”

  She shrugged again.

  “Apart from being a good hiding place, why would the Forgotten go there? What significance does it have?”

  Spears seemed at a loss. “Apart from the junk, the hiding place, and the fact that there’s a billion people there and probably a lot of Forgotten sympathies?” She ruminated for a moment. “Ships come through there from countless systems all over the settled worlds, and from many nations, too. If they interfered with those ships by—I don’t know—putting something deadly and communicable on those ships, they may well cause a galaxy-wide catastrophe. Maybe a bioweapon, maybe something much simpler like a computer virus. Either way, a billion people are at risk. More, possibly, if somehow they manage to hit Earth or another heavily populated world.”

  Mattis was worried, but fear couldn’t cut through the tiredness that suddenly fell over him. “A bioweapon? Hm … I doubt it. The Forgotten are earnest and crazy as hell, but they don’t have a death wish. A bioweapon would kill indiscriminately. So they’d be at risk too.” He stood up. “But at least we know where we’re going now. And I’ll need rack time if I’m going to be any use when we get there.”

  Spears gave him a wry smile. “You’re getting old, Admiral. The Mattis I knew could stay up much longer ”

  Mattis found himself feeling a little humorless at the nominally playful jab. “It’ll happen to you too,” he said. “If you’re lucky. How about I give Commanders Lynch and Modi a debriefing and see what we can find out in the meantime? Oh, and the good senator might want to hear that we found his son alive and well—I’ll see that he’s informed.”

  The edges of Spears’s lips turned up. “And, perhaps, you might want to see if you can get a word in with the lovely Miss Ramirez, as well, mmm? Pick her brains too?”

  Well, now she was just being cruel. Mattis smirked at her. “I might. I’ll be sure to fill you in on anything we find.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Spears made a little shooing motion. “Rack time. Go. Now. I’ll talk to you after your grandpop nap, Admiral.”

  With no energy for a complaint, Mattis turned and left the bridge, leaving the Z-Space translation in pursuit of their enemy in Spears’s capable hands.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Corridor

  HMS Caernarvon

  Gas Giant Erebus

  Vellini System

  Tiberius Sector

  Mattis had barely left the bridge when his communicator chirped. A brief glance at the device showed it was a relayed Z-Space transmission coming from out of the ship.

  “Mattis,” he said, opening it. “Send it.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to pick up.” Admiral Fischer’s voice came to him down the line, thick and frosty. There was a brief pause, static on the line, and then she continued. “You know you’ve been a bad boy.”

  He was tempted to say something sarcastic, to play with the cards she was putting down, but he didn’t. “Am I?” he asked, innocently.

  “The key part of being grounded is,” said Fischer, “that you’re grounded. My sources tell me that you’re a substantial distance away from the old country, Admiral Mattis. A substantial distance indeed.”

  “Can’t say that isn’t true. Sorry, Admiral, England was a little too chilly for me. Had to go somewhere sunnier. Bit more solar radiation.” He took a turn down a corridor toward the State Room. “You know how it is.”

  “Mm
m,” said Fischer. “Oh, I know how it is alright. Old crotchety Captains deciding to gallivant around the galaxy, thinking they’re above and beyond the chain of command… indulging their flights of fancy, conspiracy theories, delusions.” She took in a breath and let it out in a long, low sigh over the microphone at the other end. “You do understand why we have the chain of command, don’t you?”

  Certainly did. “Well, Admiral, I don’t think that’s true.”

  “How so?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m crotchety.”

  She snorted, whatever humor and good tolerance her voice held evaporating. “That’s where we’re different, Admiral Mattis. Because I am. Proudly so. And as fun as sparring with you over a Z-Space connection is… it’s time. You’re done. Come back to Earth.”

  He fought to keep the frustration, anger, out of his tired voice. “Listen, there’s more to this—”

  “More to this than I know,” finished Fischer. “I’ve heard this before, Admiral.”

  “And it was as true then as it is now. There is something more here. Those missing kids? They’re involved. And if you’re not convinced, I got you a present.” He paused to let the effect sink in. “A real life future-human. Securely locked up in the brig. We pulled him off a crashed Avenir ship.”

  She said nothing.

  “You still there?” asked Mattis, wondering if the line had cut out.

  “Did you say,” asked Fischer, “that you have a live future-human aboard the Caernarvon?”

  He had her interest now. “That’s correct,” said Mattis. “Being debriefed and probed for information as we speak.”

  “I need that creature,” said Fischer emphatically, betraying her urgency. “Admiral Mattis, you are hereby ordered to return directly to Earth aboard the HMS Caernarvon and turn over that creature to the US Navy.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Mattis, politely, “that our investigation is not yet complete. When it is, I’ll be more than happy to turn over not only the Avenir in Captain Spears’s brig, but also anything else of interest we’ve recovered on the way.”

  “Admiral Mattis,” said Fischer. “Home. Now.”

  “Can’t hear you,” said Mattis. He blew on his communicator to simulate static. “You’re breaking up.” He hung up and disabled relayed Z-Space calls.

  Smiling with grim satisfaction, Mattis started tapping out a message, heading straight for the state room.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  State Room - Admiral Jack Mattis’s Quarters

  HMS Caernarvon

  Z-Space

  Mattis messaged Lynch, Modi and Ramirez on the way to the state room and told them to meet him there, but to his surprise he found the three of them already waiting there for him.

  It was difficult to look at Ramirez, but also uncomfortably awkward avoiding her.

  “Evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, giving each of them a little nod. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

  “No thanks are necessary,” said Modi, calmly folding his hands behind his back. “We’ve been waiting here for you for some time.”

  That didn’t make any sense. “But…”

  “We were waiting for you to get off your shift,” said Ramirez, smiling lightly at him, although there was a certain sadness there, too. “Didn’t realize you were simply going to take another one. Thought you might be avoiding us.”

  “Never,” said Mattis, genuinely. “I was just… occupied.”

  “That’s what I told these clowns,” said Lynch, opening up the door to the state room and gesturing inside. “I know what it’s like on the bridge. Sometimes work just takes a lot longer than you thought.”

  Right. Mattis stepped inside, and was immediately disappointed. The state room on the USS Midway was elaborately decorated, but the British accommodations were apparently much more spartan. The room itself was cramped even by Navy standards, no more than four meters by seven, maybe eight. The walls were simple bulkheads with a small desk and a chair, a monitor displaying the space outside, a pair of bunk beds—what kind of state room had bunk beds?—and the ceiling was lined with pipes and conduits. Mattis could hear the distant humming of some kind of machinery through the ceiling, something he suspected would be a feature of his stay. A plastic cupboard was built into the wall, with a head-and-shoulders length mirror and a small steel sink.

  “Not bad,” said Modi, behind him. “Private sink.”

  Maybe life as an Admiral and CO had softened him and he’d been too used to fancy rooms with plush carpets. The room, objectively, was less cramped than his quarters as a junior officer.

  You’re getting spoiled and old.

  Mattis moved to the back of the room. Realizing there would be insufficient room for all four of them unless they got creative, he slid onto the lower bunk. Ramirez moved onto the top one, her legs dangling down as she got settled. Modi took the chair, while Lynch leaned up against the cupboard.

  “Okay sir,” said Lynch, idly tapping the toe of one foot against the ground. “What can you tell us about what we’ve found so far?”

  It took him a moment to get his thoughts in order. “The kidnapping of those kids? It was the Forgotten. And the Forgotten have been doing their thing… taking over more abandoned space stations and building their own new one—with who knows whose funding. Pitt got rescued. He’s over on the Stennis now. We have a future-human—an Avenir—aboard the Stennis too, currently being interrogated, and we’ve engaged with Forgotten twice now. One of their ships got away, and it looks like it’s a rebuilt Avenir vessel—who knows where the hell they got it. We’re in pursuit now.”

  Modi smiled widely. “It is good to have Commander Pitt returned to us. I have missed him, despite our disagreements.”

  “Dang straight,” said Lynch, grinning widely. “I’m going to talk his damn ear right off when we get a chance and he’s done with debriefing and quarantine.”

  It was absolutely great to have him back, and yet Mattis couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of worry about it. Flint had taken Pitt onto the bridge and was treating him like an officer… but he didn’t even know who Pitt really was in the past, let alone whatever he was now, having been miraculously raised from the dead.

  Something about it just felt wrong.

  Lynch folded his arms, a little frustration creeping into his voice. “But hey, Admiral. Answer me this. Maybe the dang cooks have been slipping lithium into my crepes, but… why the hell are we dealing with Forgotten and stolen kids? Ain’t that a job for local law enforcement?”

  Mattis struggled to answer, to force words out from his tired brain. “It’s… Hmm. Call it a hunch,” he said, hooking his fingers behind his head. “When I was on the station, I saw a symbol in the areas where the Forgotten had hidden things. Teeth biting a planet. There’s something about it that troubles me. I don’t think it’s their symbol, to be honest. I think it’s the Avenirs’. I think they’re either allied with, or controlled by, them. Or… something. Last I saw them they were hunting Spectre, so they can’t be all bad.” He snapped his fingers behind his head. “There’s something about it that really makes me think there’s more going on here than we know. But… I don’t know. I can’t say definitively. Either way, it’s not smart to let the Forgotten keep their hands on an Avenir ship. That thing may have a planet-killing mass driver on it. We can’t risk that.”

  “Okay,” said Ramirez, swinging her legs slightly. “I deal with this kind of thing a lot. Half-truths and unknowns and hunches. Is there anything more you can tell us about the Forgotten?”

  “I’d have to talk to Pitt first,” he said. “He would know if anyone would.”

  “Why don’t we do that?”

  “It’s next on my list.”

  “Okay,” said Ramirez from above him, sounding concerned. “We still haven’t located the kids yet. All signs pointed to them being hauled off to that half-constructed Forgotten space station back at Erebus.”

  “Correct,” said Mattis, yawning aga
in despite himself. “Senator Pitt has constituents on New Kentucky, so I’d have thought he’d want us to find those kids at all costs, Avenir ship be damned. But he was more concerned about Jeremy after we rescued him. The old man’s a wreck.” A thought drifted though his sleepy mind. “Where is the good Senator, anyway?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I’ll look into it,” said Lynch. “Probably over on the Stennis, talking to him in decon.”

  Maybe. Mattis found it hard to concentrate. Modi began talking about something. Something about the most recent engagement, som thing that he couldn’t follow about the mysterious transmission and the ships that had escaped them, but he couldn’t keep his attention focused and couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  For a brief moment Mattis dozed off, then he sensed rather than saw Ramirez crouch beside him.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” she said, smiling gently. “Everyone else is gone.”

  Blast. That was a problem. He had more to say, and they hadn’t worked everything out yet. “I must have dozed off,” he said, sheepishly.

  “No worries. They said they understood.” She rested her hand on his abdomen. “And you’re adorable when you sleep.”

  He smiled up at her, warm and safe and half asleep. “Yeah. Well, you’re adorable all the time,” he said, the smile slowly becoming a grin.

  “Is that so?” asked Ramirez, sliding onto the tiny cot with him, a coy smile over her own face. “You’re flirting with me, Admiral Jack Mattis.”

  “Well, Admiral Fischer says I’m a bad boy,” said Mattis, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and giving a fond squeeze. “I might have to go off the record if I’m going to say anything more.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “Or…before I do anything more.”

  “Off the record then,” echoed Ramirez, leaning over and kissing him.

  He kissed back, and with the ship in pursuit of a hostile threat and billions of lives hanging in the balance, there was nothing else he wanted to do right now than be with her.