The Last Hero: Book 2 of The Last War Series

by Peter Bostrom

  “Yeah,” said Chuck, nodding. “I … guess so. I can send Martha a message, let her know what we’ve found. She can meet us there.”

  “Martha? Martha Ramirez, the reporter?”

  Chuck nodded.

  “My, you are more resourceful than I anticipated. Do it.” Smith pulled out his phone. “I have a chess piece near Chrysalis, I’ll reach out to them. See if I can get them to do a bit of the digging for me before we get there.”

  Chess piece? “Okay,” said Chuck. He tapped out a message on his device, sent it, then considered. “Before we head out, though, you should know: there were more files there. On Pitt’s computer.”

  “Mmm,” said Smith. “Mostly trash. Nothing relevant to our interest. Election promises made in public which he didn’t intend to keep, and election promises made in private which he did. The usual political fare. Nothing at all special in any way.”

  “Except Spectre,” said Chuck, warily. “That directory was encrypted.”

  Smith’s eyebrows shot up as he casually slid his gun into his holster. “Spectre?”

  “Yes,” said Chuck. “It was spelt the British way. With an “re” at the end.”

  Smith’s expression fell. “If that’s who I think it is, Chuck Mattis, you are in way over your head.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Six hours journey from Chrysalis

  Kepler-1011 system

  The Midway dropped out of Z-space, reappearing into reality in a sea of multicolored light. Right away, Mattis touched the button to open communications with Chrysalis.

  “Attention Chrysalis station, this is Admiral Jack Mattis, commanding officer of the USS Midway of the United States Navy. I’m here with Admiral Yim of the People’s Republic of China Army Navy, and although our presence must be alarming to you, I want to assure you that we’re not here in force. If we were, we would have bought more ships.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “We’re aware of the minefield you have protecting your section of the belt. It’s not our intention to harm you or your inhabitants in any way. I understand you’ll be reluctant to let a United States naval vessel and a Chinese naval vessel dock at the same time, but now hear this: we’re here to speak to John Armitage for the express purpose of hearing his grievances so that they can be peacefully relayed to the governments of both our nations. It is not our intention to do anything else while at Chrysalis station.” Another pause. “Please transmit your reply when you are ready.”

  He sat back in his chair as the communications technicians primed the long range antenna and dispatched his message. They didn’t have to wait long for a response.

  “USS Midway, this is Chrysalis station. You are cleared to proceed through the minefield.”

  Lynch grimaced. “Guess we find out if they want to kill us now, right?”

  “Pretty much,” said Mattis.

  The next six hours were spent in relative silence, the Midway steaming toward the largest rock in the system’s asteroid belt, the eyes of all her crew on the long range radars. The mines drifted in a lazy orbit around Chrysalis, gentle and predictable in their paths, but their presence was unnerving. Mattis kept the Z-space drive fully charged with the hope that, if a mine did start towards them, the ship could jump away before the destructive device pulverized them.

  Thankfully their precautions seemed unnecessary, for as they drifted further and further into the minefield the lethal devices gave no sign they were hostile.

  After a full shift, the Midway docked at Chrysalis station.

  “Get Modi,” said Mattis. “You’re with me again. We’ll meet Yim down there.”

  “Sir,” said Lynch, his tone a little more formal than normal, “we shouldn’t go alone this time. There’s no need for the three of us to get onboard Chrysalis together.” Lynch took a steadying breath. “As your XO, I should warn you, taking half your senior staff off the ship and putting them onboard this ’roid where we don’t know the lay of the land—that put your ship at a high degree of risk.”

  He knew it was true. And he’d even promised himself that next time he wouldn’t just go down there but, well, the only one he was accountable to for that was himself. “Unfortunately,” said Mattis, “as much as I agree with you—and I do—I feel like if we show up with armed marines that undermines our stated goal of diplomacy, don’t you think?” He smiled slightly. “We should do what we would do if this was a leisurely dock at some US-friendly port. Just waltz on in like we’re about to spend a whole bunch of money on overpriced booze. If nothing else, it’ll be disarming. Might put them off balance.”

  “Guess so,” said Lynch. “Just doing my job.”

  Mattis clapped him on the shoulder. “I know. C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

  “That’s what you said about New London,” said Lynch, his face souring instantly.

  “Everything turned out okay in the end,” said Mattis.

  Lynch looked like he inhaled a lemon. “That’s a matter of opinion, sir,” he growled.

  “Trust me,” said Mattis, “this time will be different.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chrysalis Station

  Kepler-1011 system

  Chrysalis Station was at once so alike New London, and yet so different. An asteroid with hollowed out sections, it had gaudy shopfronts and markets packed with people. It more resembled a center of commerce rather than a corporate headquarters, although Mattis had to begrudgingly accept that a planet’s population, even a tiny one, had to shop somewhere.

  Despite the heavy commercial presence, the people of Chrysalis seemed much more interested in partying than anything else. Glass lined the streets, trash piled up in places where it had obviously spent some time decaying, and if there was any kind of law enforcement or security on the entire rock, there was absolutely no sign of them.

  Still, as he, Modi, Yim, and Lynch wove their way through the raucous, bustling crowds he couldn’t help but feel his earlier words—that they should pretend they were all here to spend money—were eerily prophetic.

  “How far away is our rendezvous point?” asked Lynch, struggling to keep up. His eyes flicked from side to side as they passed people. “I hate this place.”

  “You hate every place we visit,” said Modi, matter-of-factually.

  “I especially hate this place,” said Lynch, bitterly. “Lots of remote outposts have problems with pirates, thieves, criminals—all that crap. But not Chrysalis. Why? The mines keep them honest. Nobody attacks this little rock. Nobody steals from it—at least nobody hoping to escape with their lives. They wouldn’t get far before, you know, boom. So nobody tries.” His voice was painted with sarcasm. “Death by minefield for stealing. Just lovely.”

  “It doesn’t seem so bad,” said Mattis, stepping around a person in the middle of the road. He hoped they were merely sleeping. “And I don’t plan on stealing anything.”

  Lynch’s whole face contorted. “Just doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “It might seem odd,” said Yim, “to have business spring up in the area, but businesses want steady streams of customers and security to make sure they don’t get robbed. What does Chrysalis have? A huge supply of veterans, and, thanks to the Chinese Navy’s mine-laying devision, a unique security element. It’s safe, it’s prosperous, and we have the People’s Republic to thank for it.”

  “Great,” snapped Lynch. “Feel free to pass along my congratulations. Where are we meeting this Forgotten guy again?”

  “The communication was simple,” said Modi. “At the Blessed Humanity coffee shop. Apparently Mister Armitage has a fondness for the product.”

  Mattis didn’t like it at all. “Yim,” he said. “I thought you said that the only non-Chinese worlds that Blessed Humanity has license to operate is on Zenith and New London.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Yim, shrugging helplessly. “Who knows. Maybe it’s an illegal rip-off.”

  Maybe, but even so, it seemed odd. Suspicious. Out of place.

  Soon the
sign loomed, familiar to him now. The neon flashing, steaming cup. “Looks legit to me,” said Mattis, and with no further ado, pushed open the narrow door that lead into the shop.

  Surprisingly it was empty. The stools were clean and barely marked, the floor waxed but covered in a thin film of dust. Behind the bar, casually polishing a glass, was a man Mattis’s age—grey around the temples, with a neatly clipped beard.

  “Admiral Mattis,” he said, smiling politely. “Heard you’re looking for me.”

  “John Armitage.” Mattis sat at one of the stools. Yim sat to his left, Lynch on his right, and Modi stood around awkwardly. “We’ve come a long way to have a chat with you.”

  “You look tired,” said Armitage, appraising them all in turn.

  Mattis smiled half-heartedly. “It’s been a long trip, and a six hour journey through a minefield to get here. But I’m used to it. Nobody knows tired like parents or soldiers.”

  “What about soldier parents?”

  A thought of Chuck flashed into his head. “We long for the sweet, sweet release of death. Or, you know, so much caffeine our hearts explode.”

  Armitage nodded politely. “Here,” he said, reaching below the bar and withdrawing three steaming mugs of brown coffee topped with foam. “This will help.” There were eight more mugs, similarly steaming.

  “You expecting more guests?” asked Mattis, cautiously.

  “Only you. I expected more of your team, to be honest. And none of these people have the look of marines about them.”

  Yim seemed to almost snatch the drink, sniffing it eagerly, a broad smile crossing his face. He muttered something eager in Chinese and sipped it, nodding approvingly.

  Encouraged by this, Mattis sipped his, too. It was rich and quite sweet, but delightful. “Never understood why,” he said, putting his mug down on the bench, “that sane, God-fearing men would even consider polluting perfectly good coffee with milk and sugar.”

  “But Admiral,” said Yim, a milk-moustache on his face, “that’s the best part.”

  “Coffee’s just like my old girlfriend,” said Lynch, sipping it cautiously. “Bitter, overrated, and it’s not even worth considering unless you can change some essential part.”

  “Mister Lynch, I’m not sure there’s room on my boat for filthy coffee heathens.”

  Lynch raised the mug and drank again.

  “All very amusing,” said Armitage, “but I’m guessing the four of you didn’t come here to compliment my hot drinks.”

  “No,” said Mattis. “We’re here to talk. Specifically, to listen to you and what you have to say. To see if we can’t defuse the situation we find ourselves in. These attacks on military assets is unacceptable, and to be blunt, if you don’t stop, you’re all going to die.”

  “Good.” Armitage casually folded his arms. “I just want to let you know, Admiral, that this shop might seem empty and safe, but I want you to know that if any of your hands touch the metal on your belts, the only thing left of you will be the ‘Admiral Jack Mattis And Friends Memorial Crater’ where this fine establishment once stood. I’m sure I don’t need to go into the details of exactly how this will be accomplished.”

  The threat, so boldly stated, stole a little of the humor from their faces. Yim’s in particular, who seemed to take the destruction of the coffee house as a personal affront.

  “So,” said Mattis, “we’re here to listen. That won’t work unless you talk.”

  Armitage pulled up a chair. “Of course.” He took a breath. “Admiral Mattis, I’m not sure you remember, but we actually met before. Once, right after the war. It was at the memorial for the Saragossa.” The ship his brother had died on. Destroyed by Admiral Yim’s ship.

  Yim looked away, unable to look at Mattis.

  “I don’t really remember much about that day,” said Mattis, honestly.

  “I’m not surprised.” Armitage sipped his drink, smiling wistfully. “Ahh, Admiral. If only you’d seen her. The Saragossa was the finest ship I’d ever served upon. Transferring to the Yorktown was bittersweet. I didn’t go down with the ship, but, at the same time, my post just wasn’t the same. I got out when my tour was done. No war, no need for me to be there.”

  “I understand,” said Mattis. “I stayed in, but … the last war isn’t something easily left behind. I think, in some ways, we’re still fighting it.”

  Armitage smiled like a jackal. “I knew you’d understand.” He leaned forward, over the counter. “Sir, you need to listen to me. Friendship Station was the beginning. The Chinese—”

  Mattis held up his hand. “I brought Admiral Yim to talk to you because I knew this was going to be an issue. Admiral Yim, the man sitting right there, was the CO of that station and I hated him. I, too, thought it was a Chinese fleet coming for us in the beginning.” He took a deep breath. “But I promise you this, Armitage, I promise you; I’ve seen the face of our enemy. It’s not the People’s Republic.”

  Slowly, slowly, Armitage’s face fell. “You can’t honestly believe—”

  “I was there,” stressed Mattis. “I fought them myself. I saw the—” he almost said bodies. “Ships they had. The technology. It wasn’t just an evolution of Chinese tech, it was something else entirely.”

  Armitage sipped his drink. “I thought,” he said, at length, “that you were one of the good guys. A good man. That when I explained things to you, you would help us.”

  “I like to think I am a good man,” said Mattis. “Maybe I’m not. But if you’re just going to peddle the same conspiracy theory crap that the other Forgotten are trying to shovel, I’m not buying.” He knew he was mangling his metaphors but he didn't care.

  “If so, you’re on the wrong side of this war. I hope you can see it in time.”

  Mattis had always been in the military. It had been his life, his career. Unlike Armitage he never got out; he knew the system better than basically anyone.

  The military kept secrets. It had to. A nation’s armed forces couldn’t exist as an open book. But secrets bred conspiracies; from Area 51 to the F-117a “Stealth Fighter” Nighthawk, to the first combat starship, there were always conspiracy theories.

  But, just like the F-117a, sometimes a conspiracy theory turned out to be true. Maybe there was something more to it—not the Chinese, of course. But something. Something that had been missed by all and sundry.

  Like that the alien attackers were not, in fact, aliens, but humans from the future. Kind of a pretty big detail, and one he didn’t want to let slip.

  So Mattis lied again. He was getting mighty sick of doing that.

  “Here’s what I can do,” he said. “I can talk to the President. I can get her to look further into this. Open another—yes, another—inquiry into what happened. I can’t guarantee it, but I can lean on her as hard as I can. But you should be prepared for the possibility the results will be the same.”

  “Which is why,” said Armitage, “I cannot accept it.”

  It was tempting to tell the truth in that moment, but his rational side prevented him. Mattis held his hands out. “I don’t know what else I can do for you.”

  Armitage groaned softly as he slid out of his seat, onto his feet. “Then I guess we’re done here,” he said. “Talk to your President. Get her to look into this again, and don’t take no for an answer.” He considered, almost as an afterthought, “and Mattis, tell her: There’s a beautiful symmetry to all this. A lie got you into this problem, a lie might get you out.”

  He squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She’ll know,” said Armitage, and then he slowly turned toward the door toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Admiral Mattis. I wished this had gone better for us both.”

  Mattis sipped his coffee gently. “So do I.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Bridge

  CNS Luyang III

  Orbit above Chrysalis

  Kepler-1011 system

  They’d hit a dead end. Yim played through everything in hi
s head, his neurons lit up by the infusion of the galaxy’s best coffee. There was a way past this. He could feel it.

  A video had been leaked to the galaxy’s media, showing that the alien creatures who attacked Earth were out there. Being kept under wraps. That had taken place on either New London or Zenith. They’d investigated, found links to a steroid company that employed veterans.

  The Forgotten were, almost exclusively, American veterans of the Sino-American war. So they were here, at Chrysalis, to speak to the leader of the Forgotten and hear their complaints. Which they had done. They didn’t want to walk.

  But now where? Where was the next step, the next piece in the puzzle?

  It didn’t make sense. It felt like a dead end but it shouldn’t have been. Yim put his chin in his hands, staring at the various monitors and displays around him. What were they missing here?

  No answers came. Only the soft beeping of his monitors and the occasional report from his bridge crew.

  Was Mattis holding something back? That seemed unlikely. There was still bad blood there, it was true—he could expect no less, given the death of Mattis’s brother at his hands—but they had come a long way. Mattis had trusted him and in return Yim knew he should show some trust back. The American wasn’t betraying them.

  So what was it?

  Yim watched Chrysalis spin slowly, a rock in the middle of nowhere. He reached out his hand, closing his fingers around it as though squeezing it. No answers came out. Blood from a stone…

  His implant vibrated, signaling an incoming transmission.

  John Smith. The other American he didn’t quite trust.

  Well, now. Yim opened the connection, once more dropping his voice to a whisper. “This is Yim.”

  “Admiral,” said Smith, a voice he had hoped not to hear from again. “I need a favor from you.”

  “Favors,” whispered Yim evenly, “do not come cheap. What kind of favor?”

  “Rook to E4.” They had all kinds of code words for these kinds of things. This one meant infiltration. “You’ll want to head down to Chrysalis, assuming you haven’t already been there, and check out the east end of the market. There’s a factory there, a small one, but you’ll want to go light. Bring a friend if you have to.”