by Nick Webb
Mattis considered that. “We need to track that other ship,” he said firmly. “Modi, you’re with me. Are the Warrior’s engines in shape enough to give pursuit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s move. Given what this Avenir ship did to us, I hate to think what another would do in the hands of the Forgotten. Or whoever is controlling them.” He glanced at his son. “You good here? Might I suggest you remove my grandson from a war zone?”
“Right,” said Chuck. He turned to one of the nurses. “Hi, can I have Jack, please?”
“Oh,” said the nurse, smiling politely. “His mother already got him.”
Both Mattis’s eyes nearly fell out. Chuck stammered, “His—his mother?”
The nurse nodded politely. “That’s right,” she said. “She was here about, oh, five minutes ago. Walked in, thanked me, picked him up, and walked out.”
Chuck made a noise like a strangled goose. “There’s no—she’s not—that’s simply—”
Mattis wheeled to Modi and Bratta. “You two,” he said, fighting to keep calm. “Did you see a woman come in?”
“Yes,” said Modi, crisply. “She entered. A pilot. She was still wearing her flight suit. I assumed she was here for medical attention and payed her no mind.”
“Did she leave with Jack?” asked Mattis.
Modi’s hesitation showed he didn’t know.
“Don’t worry,” said Mattis to Chuck, his tone conveying a confidence he didn’t feel. “We’ll get him back. Whoever she was, she couldn’t have gotten far.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Sickbay
USS Warrior
Vellini, High Orbit
Vellini System
Tiberius Sector
Mattis took a deep breath to calm himself down. Panic wouldn’t solve anything.
Chuck, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have that presence of mind. He was shouting at the nurse. A whole bunch of unhelpful things. Things like threatening to sue her. Or throw her out an airlock.
Mattis put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Lemme handle this,” he said, then turned to the understandably upset nurse. “I need a description of the woman who was just here.”
She was obviously rattled, but with a little coaching he got what he needed. Then Mattis touched his radio. “This is Admiral Mattis to anyone who can receive this transmission. Priority alert.” The words left a sour taste in his mouth. “One of our strike craft pilots, copilots, navigators, or gunners has been identified as the principle actor in a child abduction.” He relayed the physical description he had been given, trying to include as much detail as he could. “Anyone who can identify this person is ordered to contact me on this frequency, stat. Mattis out.”
Almost immediately, his radio chirped back. “Admiral Mattis, this is Lieutenant Finlay with the Strike Group. That sounds like Guano—I mean, Lieutenant Patricia Corrick. From the USS Stennis. Over.”
Patricia Corrick. That name struck a bell. Doctor Brooks had mentioned her … she was the pilot who had some kind of strange battle hypnosis happening.
A powerful sinking feeling took hold in his gut. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Mattis out.” He changed frequencies. “Mattis to Caernavron. FLASH traffic. I need to speak to Caernavron actual.”
Spears’s voice greeted him, her composure returned. “This is Spears. Send it.”
“One of our pilots from the Stennis is the mole.” He knew such a bold declaration over an unsecured channel was a risk, but he didn’t care. “She took Ja …a baby from the Warrior. It’s a long story, but it doesn’t matter: I need you to order every strike craft in the whole fleet that is currently active to hold their positions. All engines stop. Review the logs; ID any fighters docking with, or leaving, the USS Warrior and bring them in. Be advised: an infant child will be present, so all weapons tight. I say again: don’t shoot, no matter what they do. But, you know, feel free to paint them with targeting lasers and other bullshit to make them think we might.”
“Solid copy on all,” said Spears, her clipped consonants icy. “I’ll make it happen.”
Security staff ran into the room, pistols drawn. Mattis waved them away. They could do no good here. Plus the ship needed hands to effect repairs.
Another transmission cut in over the line. “Admiral Mattis,” said a cool, even voice he didn’t recognize. Male. “This is John Smith. CIA. I’m calling you from the Aerostar.”
Well, now. That was unexpected. Mattis looked at Chuck.
“I think it’s a fake name too,” said Chuck, unhelpfully. But Mattis appreciated the impulse.
“We’re busy here,” he said. “How can you help me, Mister Smith?”
“I’ll keep this brief,” he replied. “I have been inspecting a database recovered from the offices of Jovian Logistics, and I’ve come up with a working theory about what’s been causing all these issues. Specifically, the Forgotten are just scapegoats—pawns in a much bigger plot. Namely, a man named Spectre is using these kids as a fresh source of DNA to use in cloning and human enhancement experiments.”
No. Mattis had no time for this. “Was. Spectre is dead, Agent Smith,” he said. “I killed him myself. It cost me my ship. Talk to me when you have something more concrete than this theory.”
“Wait,” said Smith. “You don’t understand. He was tinkering with, well, with brains. He was exploring radical surgical techniques. Genetic engineering. There’s more to this, Admiral. I promise you.”
“Do you know what that more is?”
Smith hesitated. “Not exactly. There are a lot of puzzle pieces here.”
There might very well be, but he had no time for it. His grandson was missing. “Okay, great. Get back to me when you have something definite.” He closed the line.
“Admiral Mattis.” Spears’s voice returned, calm and collected. “We’ve detected a strike craft that isn’t obeying the stand-down directive. Logs show it docked with the USS Warrior only a few minutes ago. It’s a two-seater craft… could well be transporting an infant.”
His stomach did its thing where it tightened in his chest. That was not what he had hoped for. It was so much more difficult to secure a strike craft by force. “Okay,” he said, lacking any other alternative. “Damn. Okay.”
“There’s something else,” said Spears. “Break.” She had a brief conversation with Blackwood, dull and muted, inaudible. Then she was back. “A ship is coming out of Z-Space. It’s completing its translation now… damn. It’s another one of them. Another Avenir ship.”
The other ship Modi’s data had uncovered.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It gets worse,” she said, energy creeping in. “That rogue strike craft is heading straight for it.”
Surrounded by nurses and beeping equipment, Mattis could do nothing but sit there in helpless rage as the minutes ticked away.
The radio crackled.
“They got away,” said Spears. “The strike craft docked with the Avenir vessel and escaped into Z-Space. I’m—I’m sorry, Jack.”
Mattis looked to Chuck, took in his despairing face, then his own hardened. “I’m on the way to the bridge,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“We’ll send over a shuttle,” said Spears.
“Okay,” said Mattis, turning to leave. “But not for me. Take Chuck instead. Break.” He muted the conversation, holding up a finger to cut off Chuck’s inevitable protest. “Son, you can’t be here. This ship is badly damaged and about to get into another shooting match. You’ll be safer on the Caernarvon.”
Chuck opened his mouth as though to argue, then closed it again. “Make it the Stennis,” he said, firmly. “I’ll keep an eye on Jeremy Pitt for you. And Lily. I just want to do something useful to keep my mind off things.”
That seemed reasonable. Mattis hesitated a moment—some strange instinct in him said to say no—but he pushed that nonsense away. “Okay. Inform the shuttle pilot when they come across.” He reopened the channel. “Cae
rnarvon, I say again, I won’t be coming back. Instead, have Chuck Mattis transported to the Stennis.”
“Acknowledged,” said Spears. “I’ll send him over. With you vouching for him, I’m sure Flint won’t mind.” She paused just a fraction of a second. “And what about you?”
“Be advised,” said Mattis. “I mean to take the Warrior bridge and assume command of what’s left of the fleet. Captain Spears, contact Flint on the Stennis. Time for them to really stretch their legs and test out those new fangled Chinese engines of theirs—when I used them on the Midway they were a sight to behold. Hell, bring the Aerostar in on this too. We’re getting my grandson back.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Bridge
USS Warrior
Vellini, High Orbit
Vellini System
Tiberius Sector
Mattis had seen a lot of bridges in crisis in his time as a military officer, having served both in the Sino-American war and humanity’s more recent struggles, but he’d rarely seen anything like this.
The armored casemate that protected the bridge had been significantly affected by the gravity weapon and had spalled; its surface was crushed and sprayed out shards of metal across the whole of the bridge, slicing through computers, monitors, deck, bulkheads, and flesh.
It was obvious now what had caused Admiral Fischer’s injuries, and how serious they must have been to get her all the way from the bridge to the hangar bay in such short time.
“Report,” he said, eyes searching the bloodied, blackened faces, looking for the most senior officer available.
“Admiral Mattis?” asked some… butterbar—a fresh-faced ensign whose blond hair stood out from his smoke-darkened face like some kind of glowing white moss. “Is that really you?”
Apparently his reputation proceeded him. “Yes,” he said, adopting the same voice he used to use on Chuck when he was struggling as a kid. “It is. Now, Ensign, your report.”
The guy stared at him with dull eyes. Mattis recognized shock when he saw it. “Uhh, I’m Ensign Tom Calaway. Helmsman. Fischer’s in the sickbay on the Stennis, sir. And so is the XO. Senior chief petty officer is dead. Watchkeeping officer is dead. The chain of command is pretty broken at this point, sir.”
That wasn’t a good report. Not good at all. But it could have been worse. “Status on the engines?”
“They’re functional, sir,” said Calaway, curious. “Do we need to move somewhere to assist rescue efforts?”
“Can’t do that yet,” said Mattis, firmly. “What about radar? Weapons?”
“Working,” said one of the other junior officers, her head and right eye swathed in bandages. “Sir, are we under attack?”
Not yet, but… Mattis turned back to Calaway. “Son, I need a no-bullshit assessment. This ship has hull integrity, it has weapons, it has radar, it has engines. It has skin, fists, eyes, and legs. Is the Warrior combat capable? Can it enter Z-Space?”
Calaway looked around at the other officers, obviously afraid. But then he steeled himself and turned back to Mattis. “We’re ready to fight,” he said. “We’re just lacking command. Fists, but no brains, sir. And the Z-Space engines on these old frigates are solid. They’re usually the last system to go down. They made them to last.”
“Good.” Mattis glanced to the communications station. “Open a channel to the Caernarvon. I want to speak to Captain Spears.”
With a tap of keys, the channel was open. “USS Warrior, HMS Caernarvon.” The line was and weak full of static; Spears’s voice sounded like she was underwater. “This is Caernarvon actual. Send it.”
“Mattis here. I’ve assumed command of the Warrior. She’s a strong ship with a good crew. We’re ready to fight, Captain.”
“Good. Captain Flint reports he’s calculated a pursuit course using Mister Modi’s algorithm. Captain Reardon on the Aerostar is reporting that he’s received the data and is green light for this mission. We’re getting ready to execute a Z-Space translation. Are you able to accompany?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
Calaway spoke up. “But, sir?” he said, his voice losing some of its bluster. Mattis muted the line. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the fleet?”
Three ships would be enough, and he simply couldn’t not go after Jack. “Negative. I intend to pursue and engage a hostile ship. If you have an objection, log it in the ship’s log. For now, I am in command.”
Calaway hesitated again but then, with a nod, seemed to overcome it. “We’re ready to fight, sir.”
“Very well.” He opened the channel again. His shoulder was aching, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. He’d take another painkiller soon enough. “Caernarvon, Warrior. We are ready to execute a Z-Space translation. Relay us the coordinates and we’ll guard your back.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Infirmary
USS Warrior
Z-Space
Bratta felt that creeping nemesis of his, boredom, slowly return. Rather than let his mind wander, he instead turned his attention back to his terminal.
Acquiring DNA from a second live mutant would be a valuable boon to his research. The mitochondrial discovery was important, but there was just so much other information DNA could tell them. Things they could learn. Idly, Bratta began running a full analysis on Pitt’s DNA. So much of it was similar to their… guest aboard the Aerostar. There were differences, of course. Differences that would lead to facial structure, skin tone. All that lovely stuff.
The genetic code information flashed by on his screen in two columns. Where the two sets of DNA matched, it was green. Where it didn’t, it was red. Almost every single instance was green. The two were practically clones of each other as well—not surprising given their DNA was spun in a lab.
Then something did surprise him. A huge chunk of red. Huge. As though a whole organ was entirely exempt from whatever cloning process had been used on Pitt. Bratta let the program work, scrolling back up. A whole organ… unclear which one. The Avenir on the Aerostar had it. Pitt didn’t.
It made no sense.
“Hey Modi,” he asked over his shoulder. “Come check this out.”
He sensed, rather than saw, Modi moving up behind him. “I am here,” he said, leaning in to examine the screen. “What seems to be the…” his tone faded off. “But this makes no sense.”
“I know,” said Bratta, dumbfounded. “They edited out something. A whole organ.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Modi, shaking his head. “Every organ in the human body, future-mutant or not, serves a purpose. Even if a person can live without them, such a thing is not advantageous. Was this… some attempt to optimize?”
Bratta tried matching the data to a reference schematic of the body. “It’s unclear what the organ actually is.”
Modi scanned his data. “Mr. Bratta. You have the caps lock on. Did you realize that?”
Bratta blushed. “Uh—yes. Of course, Mr. Modi. Let me just click that off…”
Modi looked askance at him. “Mr. Bratta. Why do you have a caps lock key on your terminal? Those are centuries outdated.”
“I like old things.”
Bratta tapped on keys, now realizing why the data wasn’t lining up—just a stupid computer misinterpreting his commands. Well, computers weren’t stupid—just the stupid people programming and using them. He entered the command to isolate the missing organ.
The answer came up almost immediately.
Brain.
Bratta stared mutely at the screen as it displayed the answer.
“That is not possible,” said Modi. “There must be some kind of…”
“Some kind of bug,” echoed Bratta. Obviously Pitt had a brain, you idiot. But…
“Wait.” Modi snapped his fingers. “Maybe Pitt’s body was grown without a brain because…”
The realization hit Bratta in a flash. “Because they were going to put one into it.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Hangar Bay
>
USS Stennis
Z-Space
Chuck rode the shuttle to the Stennis in silence, docking right before the great warship slipped into Z-Space.
He had volunteered to keep an eye on Pitt and Lily, but in truth, he just needed to be off that ship. He had spent only an hour or so on the Warrior and Jack had been stolen by … by one of their own pilots.
The Stennis wasn’t the place for him either, but going to the Caernarvon, where he knew nobody and had nothing to do but think, would be bad for him. Going back to the Aerostar minus his kid would be even worse. Harry would ask questions, Sammy would ask questions… He couldn’t face them now. The same reason he couldn’t go to the infirmary and look Bratta in the eye.
He had to get Jack back.
The baby consumed his every thought. Jack… Jack.
What would Elroy say?
What if they couldn’t get him back? What would Elroy say then?
My God. Jack.
Every time he thought about it his whole body ached, as though a tiny black hole were swallowing up his insides and devouring him from within.
He wandered the hallways of the Stennis aimlessly, his mind turned inward.
“Mister Mattis,” said Jeremy Pitt, approaching him in the corridor, shadowed by an armed Marine. He nodded politely. “I saw the request for you to come aboard. Welcome to the USS Stennis.”
It was difficult to make small talk, but Chuck knew that the likelihood of Pitt just randomly bumping into him down here in the shuttle bay was astronomically low. Pitt must be trying to talk to him specifically. He must have heard about what happened.
“Thank you for not making a scene,” he said. “And, you know. Coming to see me.”
Pitt gestured for him to follow. “Let’s have a chat,” he said.
It made sense. Chuck was here to keep an eye on him after all. He fell into step with the clone man, trying desperately not to think about Jack. “So, uh, where are we going?”
