by Nick Webb
Captain Spears watched in horror as the Stennis evaporated in a ball of white light, throwing debris in all directions.
“What the devil?” asked Commander Blackwood beside her, the stoic woman grabbing one of the screens and examining it, already working on answering her own question. “Its… reactor failed, ma’am. The Stennis is gone. And so is the beam that was forming the portal. The planet appears stable.”
The rapidly expanding ball of gas and fire rapidly cooled on her thermal monitors, sending spinning hunks of wreckage slowly drifting out through space. “Acknowledged,” she said, keeping her back straight and her eyes firmly glued on the main monitor. “Report status of the boarding team.”
“Looks like they made it,” said Blackwood, relief painting her words. “They’re aboard now.”
Good. At least there was some light in the dark. Something good.
“Status of Commander Lynch?”
Blackwood consulted her instruments. “Cornwallis will tell you, mum, Americans are a hardy lot. SAR is working on him now.”
“Very good.” Spears sat back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “What about the civilians?” she asked. “And the crew of the Stennis? Did we get them out?”
“Confirming,” said Blackwood, an edge of triumph in her voice. “I’m receiving a report from the Americans. One Corporal Sampson. Text only. She says…” her voice trailed off.
Spears waited for her XO to continue, but she didn’t. “Commander?”
“Almost,” said Blackwood, her tone wavering. “We got… almost all of them. And ma’am,” she looked up at her, “I think you should get ready for Mattis. He’s going to be in a sorry state.”
Somehow, she knew. She knew exactly who had been left behind.
“Blast,” said Spears, closing her eyes a moment, then opening them, watching the last flare of the Stennis’s reactor die. “Blast it all.”
Mattis… I am so sorry.
Epilogue
Hospital Ship USS Saratoga
Low Earth Orbit
Three weeks later
“All rise,” said the court bailiff, “for The Honorable Judge Holden.”
Mattis stood. This wasn’t his first time in a court-martial, but it was the first time he was a villain.
Every time a ship was lost, a court-martial was convened to determine the cause. When the Midway was destroyed he’d given his account, the judge had rendered a verdict that found him non-culpable and in full compliance of his duties, and he’d been free to go.
This time, though, he had no such expectations. Or desires.
The judge, a withered old retired Admiral who seemed too ancient to even be alive, hobbled into the room and sat. She said a bunch of things. Things he barely paid attention to.
… The United States versus Admiral Jack Mattis…
… charged with the following offenses…
… article 134—reckless endangerment…
… article 121—wrongful appropriation of a ship…
… article 110—improper hazarding of vessel…
An endless stream of words. Meaningless accusations, almost all of them true. Finally the judge got to an important part.
“Where’s your counsel?”
An important question, and one for which he had an answer prepared. “I waive my right to representation,” said Mattis, flatly. “I don’t need it. Don’t want it.”
Silence.
“These are very serious charges, Admiral Mattis,” said Judge Holden, her tone grave. “You realize that in taking this course of action, you cannot later use your lack of representation as grounds for an appeal or mistrial.”
He knew. Mattis just nodded.
“Let the court record show that the accused nodded his head.” Judge Holden sighed and continued with her long stream of words.
… Uniform Code of Military Justice…
… despite a frankly heroic record, full of gallantry…
… acts unbecoming an officer…
… desperate times justify desperate measures, but do not justify criminal actions…
Then came the parade of witnesses called by the prosecution.
Sampson testified. Mostly in his defense. She was dumb, but loyal.
Modi testified for him.
Lynch was still in a coma. It was unclear whether he would ever recover.
Captain Spears refused to testify. Her lawyer sent through a statement expressing her unwavering support. Something about a politically-motivated witch hunt.
Commander Blackwood testified, giving a neutral, just-the-facts recount of what happened, elaborating as little as she could. She didn’t look at him the whole time, keeping her eyes down and on her notes.
Admiral Fischer was still in a medically-induced coma, her burns so severe that multiple painful skin grafts would be in her future.
The crew of the Aerostar could not be located, to the absolute shock of nobody. Reardon and Bratta and the rest of them had slipped into the black. Smith, of course, being a spook, was gone too.
And no further signs of Avenir ships presented themselves.
“Your Honor,” said Mattis, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. “All of this is unnecessary. I do not contest any of the charges against me.”
“The court understands that, Admiral Mattis,” said Judge Holden, narrowing her ancient eyes at him. “But this court will also not consider a confession to be the sole arbitrator of guilt.”
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that Chuck was gone.
Chuck was gone.
His champ.
“I’d just like to get on with it, if you could,” said Mattis, very quietly.
Holden frowned slightly. “As you wish.” She considered, idly rubbing her temples. “The very fact that you request to be found guilty on all charges—pleading guilty without even asking for or considering a plea bargain—suggests that you feel genuine remorse for your actions or, perhaps, that you consider them to be—judged by the facts of the time—to be honorable. Nevertheless, despite the … strangeness of your situation, I cannot help but find you, at the very least, criminally negligent.” She exhaled. “Admiral Jack Mattis, I find you guil—”
The doors to the courtroom slammed open, and every head inside turned, craning to see who it was.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said a jovial voice. Mattis turned and saw none other than Harry Reardon, self-described smuggler extraordinaire, standing in the doorway, his little brother in a wheelchair beside him.
“Are you insane?” demanded Judge Holden. “Bailiff, get those men out of here.”
“Hey! We’re just here as a taxi service.”
Another voice called out behind Reardon. “Your honor, if you please, I have one more character witness that may be relevant to the proceedings.”
Striding confidently past the Reardon brothers came someone Mattis did not expect. Former Senator Pitt, cleanly shaven, impeccably dressed, eyes on fire, staring straight ahead at the judge as he approached the bench.
“Senator Pitt, this is highly irregular—”
He held up a hand to hush her. “Please, Admiral Holden. I’m here on behalf of President Schuyler as well. You see, neither she, nor I, feel like justice would be served here today if the man who has saved Earth and saved the people on Vellini, Chrysalis, and any number of other American colonies, were to be locked away in a cell. In fact,” he tipped his glasses down and looked up at her, “I daresay funding levels for the military would not survive it.”
Holden’s brow furrowed. She stood up and whispered down to Senator Pitt. “Are you threatening to cut our funding if I don’t find him innocent? That’s a miscarriage of justice! You know I can’t do that!”
Everyone in the courtroom heard her, despite the attempted whisper. Senator Pitt smiled. “Oh, I don’t expect you to find him innocent just because I told you to. As I said, I brought a character witness with me. After that,” he pushed his glasses back into position,
“it’s up to you.”
He walked away from the bench and as he passed an astonished Mattis, the admiral caught him by the arm. “I thought you resigned.”
Senator Pitt smiled. “I’m a fucking politician. Did you think I was telling the truth?” He broke free from Mattis’s grip and went back to where the Reardon brothers were, by the doors. “You can come in, Elroy.”
In he walked. His son-in-law. He hadn’t even seen him since the catastrophe. Since he’d lost Chuck and everything else lost its meaning. Nothing else mattered now. Chuck was dead.
Elroy carried baby Jack, who, finally, looked quite well. Doctor Bratta’s treatment had apparently worked. His son-in-law approached the bench. “Your honor, thank you for having me.”
“What is your testimony, young man?”
Elroy turned to face the courtroom. “My father-in-law.” He chuckled. “He never liked me. No one was ever going to be good enough for his Chuck. But … I think he loved me anyway. And he loves Jack. He loves his grandson.” He turned back to the judge. “And, frankly your honor, I can’t raise this kid alone. He needs his grandpa. And so I’m making a formal request under,” he turned to Senator Pitt, who mouthed the words to him to help him get it right, “US Uniform Military Code of Justice, subchapter 9, article 156, paragraph two. Any accused military officer whose family has extenuating circumstances that require the servicemember’s presence shall have his case reviewed by the military judge, and if in their judgment the circumstances are of considerable severity, the sentence may be revoked and the defendant granted clemency.”
A flutter of voices filled the courtroom. A reporter ran out of the room, likely on his way to the cameras outside the chambers to announce what was happening.
“Quiet,” said Holden. She turned to Senator Pitt. “That article allows me discretion, Mr. Pitt. It doesn’t require me to give leniency to Admiral Mattis. In fact, that article has been very rarely used.”
Pitt smiled. He said nothing, but only held his fingers up, rubbing them together in a very obvious reference to money. Holden put her head in her hands.
“Please, your honor. I can’t raise my son alone. He deserves more than I can give him by myself,” said Elroy.
“Fine,” said Holden. She looked up and composed herself. “The court finds the defendant guilty. The court also grants clemency, and suspends all sentencing guidelines.” She glared at Mattis. “Except for these. The defendant is to be reduced in rank to Captain. He is never to be allowed to command a starship again. And he is to remain on or in orbit around Earth for the duration of his probation of five years. Court is adjourned.”
And just like that, he was a free man. He was stunned.
Elroy came up to him, facing him, looking him in the eye. “I know you don’t like me, but—”
Mattis interrupted him by grabbing both of his shoulders and pulling him in close for a hug. Jack cooed in between them, and reached up to grab at Mattis’s ear.
“Of course I like you, son. You’re the closest thing I have to a son, and he,” he nodded down at the baby, “is lucky to have you.”
“And you too, dad,” whispered Elroy in his ear. “Please come home and help me. I need you.”
He hadn’t seen it before. But he saw it now.
He had something live for.
His champ was dead, but his son lived on. And his family needed him.
And so did Earth. Spectre, one or more of him, was still out there.
Three months, the mutant had said. Three months before Spectre comes back with an army of clones of those babies he’d tried to kidnap. Mattis had foiled him, but that didn’t mean Spectre wouldn’t be back—in three months or three years.
And when he did, Mattis would be ready.
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