Mattis grimaced. “Don’t let him hear you call him that, he won’t be happy.”
“Is he ever?” asked Lynch, and then turned back to his job.
Mattis stared at the slowly spinning rock of Chrysalis and wondered just what Senator Pitt was thinking at that very moment.
Chapter Seventy-Six
MaxGainz Facility
Floor 1
Hidden Genetics Lab
Chrysalis
Kepler-1011 system
“And Senator Pitt? If you’re hearing this, I want you to know that you’ll be treated fairly if you cooperate.” Mattis’s voice echoed throughout the station like the screams of the prisoners who, only moments ago, Senator Pitt had watched dissolve into nothingness.
His hands clenched so hard his fingernails dug into his skin.
That bastard. That bastard Mattis was screwing everything up. Why did he have to come here—why now, when they were so close to giving him what he wanted? Couldn’t he have just gone away for a few days? A week? Thoughts of politics, of power, flew out of his mind. There was only one thing he wanted.
And he was so close to getting it.
Anger. Anger so raw and hot it burned like a white hot road flare. Senator Pitt snatched his communicator up from his belt and thumbed the dial. General Tsai looked like he was going to say something, protest or complain or bitch pointlessly, but Senator Pitt silenced him with a raised finger.
“Get me the President,” he hissed into the small device. The voice recognition chirped and began dialing. It rang and rang. The secretary answered, and then more waiting….
“Mister Pitt,” came President Schuyler’s voice, drenched in sleepiness. “I hope you have a fucking good reason to wake me up at three am.”
If Schuyler was swearing then he must have really pissed her off, but he had no time to worry himself about her sleep schedule. “Actually there is. I need you to bring the fleet in to destroy Admiral Mattis’s ship, the USS Midway.”
The absolute, stunned silence on the other end of the line was deafening. It took President Schuyler several seconds to give her answer, which came as a halting, confused laugh. “I swear, I thought you said you wanted me to—”
“Destroy the USS Midway, which is currently in the Kepler-1011 system in the orbit of the Chrysalis planetoid, yes. That is correct.”
More silence. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No, Madam President. I know as well as you do that there is a fleet of frigates and destroyers no more than two hours away from Chrysalis through Z-space, and I want you to order them by whatever means necessary to come to Chrysalis and destroy that miserable fuck’s ship. No survivors.”
President Schuyler’s voice hardened, sounding stronger than iron. “Senator Pitt, I will not be authorizing the US Navy to destroy one of its own vessels because you say so. The very fact that you are asking this of me shows you are out of your mind. Come morning, I will be investigating this fully, and I will be having your metaphorical head for this.” Her tone became ice. “Metaphorical, dear senator, because that is how our society operates. Within a system of laws and checks and balances. We don’t shoot our own people in the back. Good night, and never, ever call me again.”
“Before you hang up,” said Senator Pitt, his tone even and controlled. “Since you’re throwing me to the wolves, and I’m forced to burn my credit—I know about Matthew. Matthew Schuyler.”
Silence so sharp it could have cut glass. “And what,” said President Schuyler, her voice suddenly quiet, “do you know about him?”
“I’m not going to insult you by claiming to know everything,” said Senator Pitt, his voice slipping subconsciously into a malevolent purr. “But I know enough. Enough to bury you. I know how he died and why that information terrifies you, both personally and politically. The media are sharks, as well you know, Madam President. And this story has plenty of blood in it.”
He heard the sound of rustling sheets, as though President Schuyler was sitting up in bed. “Are you blackmailing me, Senator Pitt?”
No sense in sugar coating it at all. “Yes. And, frankly, it’s going to work because the only way you get out of it is to hit me back with something, and I know you have nothing.”
“You know I don’t collect dirt on my political rivals.” Her tone developed a desperate edge. A faint crack in her verbal armor. So rare in a woman of her caliber. “I prefer to play fair.”
“This isn’t a game; it’s war, and a fair fight is a sign of poor tactics.” Senator Pitt smiled to himself. “Now, Admiral Mattis isn’t the only one with reporters in their contacts list, Madam President. If you like, I can call them up now, patch you into the call so you’re on the line with them when I’m giving them the scoop of the century on you and your dirty little secret.…” he clicked his tongue. “Unless you think it won’t be necessary.”
She didn’t answer which told him more than enough. Now he had her. “I’m a busy man, Madam President. Lemme just pull up their contact information…” he selected a number from his contact list. Miss Ramirez’s boss. Chief Editor at GBC news. That should be fine—he hit dial. “Here we go,” he said, as the phone dialed. “You can see the number on your caller ID.”
“Wait,” said President Schuyler. “Stop. Okay.”
The call connected. A sleepy sounding man picked up. “Who is this? Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry,” said Senator Pitt, “I accidentally pressed your number by mistake. Real sorry. Go back to sleep, Christian. Say hi to Jennifer for me in the morning.”
The guy didn’t need to be told twice. He grunted and hung up immediately.
“So I think you’ll agree,” said Senator Pitt, “that it is imperative that the nearby fleet get word that Admiral Jack Mattis’s ship has been taken over by the Forgotten—or, in fact, that he’s decided to join them. Such a story will be easy to sell; the good Admiral is a veteran of the same war as all of them, isn’t he? And he’s a known malcontent, at least when it comes to the Chinese. Everyone will readily believe he’s joined up with those bastards. I’m sure you see as well as I do how easily the pieces fall into place. It practically writes itself. Beautiful.”
He could practically sense President Schuyler glaring down the line at him. “You’ll pay for this,” she warned him. “You think you can get away with blackmailing the president like this? Destroying a US Navy asset? The dead soldiers?”
Senator Pitt thought for a moment. “Yes. That’s why I’m doing this.”
She sighed angrily. “I’m sending the fleet. But mark my words—you’ll pay.”
Warmth flowed through him, a mixture of emotions being released like a cork from a bottle; anger, the succor of revenge, and some other pleasurable emotion he couldn’t quite quantify. Relief? “I don’t care,” he said. “Just remember—no survivors.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Bridge
USS Midway
Orbit above Chrysalis
Kepler-1011 system
Nothing to do but wait. Mattis let the minutes tick away, monitoring Chrysalis with every single system he had on hand. No sign of a civilian evacuation, but neither did the mines activate and blow them all to smithereens. Probably because the Luyang and the Midway were far too close to the planetoid for the gravity mines to hurt them without catastrophically damaging their own systems.
Maybe that’s what they delay was. The leadership on Chrysalis was slowly working this out for themselves. Overall, a good thing. It was about time cooler heads prevailed.
When he was reasonably certain there was no more he could do at his post, Mattis visited his ready room and splashed some water on his face. When he came back, everyone seemed to be waiting for him with anxious eyes.
“Report,” he said, slipping into his CO’s seat.
“Sir?” asked Lynch, frowning at his console in mild confusion. “Did you request reinforcements from the fleet while you were taking a leak?”
Mattis blinked. �
��There’s a ship incoming?” he asked.
“Significantly more than one,” said Lynch, pointing to the long range sensor array, at the dizzying list of ships closing on their position. All American.
Something about that many ships coming so quickly ate at him. “Open a hailing frequency,” he said. “I want to talk to those ships.”
The hail went out. Followed by another. And another.
Nothing.
“Maybe we should check if our hailing system is working,” Mattis joked half-heartedly.
“I don’t like this, Admiral.” Lynch shook his head firmly, not seeming to find the humor in the situation. “They look like they’re spoiling for a fight. I’m reading a lot of inter-fleet communication from them, but no answer to our hails.”
“What do you think?” asked Mattis, staring intently at the screen. “Do you think they’re on our side? Maybe they’re just trying to find out what’s going on.”
“Doubtful. If they were here to talk about Chrysalis, they would have, you know, talked to us.”
That was a good point. Mattis cursed under his breath. He’d had his eyes glued on Chrysalis, but it turned out he should have been looking for threats elsewhere. Now he had a big problem. The might of the US Navy coming to—well, he didn’t know exactly what they were coming for, but it wasn’t good.
There wasn’t any way he could fight that many ships, nor would want to. The idea of firing on his fellow Americans made him feel ill—but he couldn’t simply pull up stakes and move on. This was his mess. He had dragged everyone into it. So many secrets and lies … if he pulled back now, he’d never be free of them. His enemies would spin a tale out of what had happened at Chrysalis and, while it might not all stick, at least some of it would. Fighting it would be a distraction they couldn’t afford.
So it was time for the truth.
He pulled out his personal communicator and thumbed through the contacts, selecting M. RAMIREZ. It rang twice before she answered.
“Jack?” She sounded surprised, struggling to keep a stammer down. “Aren’t you a little busy to be talking to me?”
“Actually,” said Mattis, “I’m kind of hoping you’ll be the key to solving my most recent little problem. Did you bring your broadcast gear?”
“Only the portable stuff,” said Ramirez. “It’s not as good as the full kit.”
“Can it reach the news network?”
“Of course,” said Ramirez, confused. “It wouldn’t be much good if it couldn’t.”
That was good enough. “Bring it up to the bridge,” he said. “To my ready room. I want to make another broadcast. Like the one we made before.”
An acidic edge crept into her tone. “Like the one where you gave me nothing and made me look like an absolute idiot in front of the whole galaxy?”
Mattis chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It won’t be like that, this time. This time—I got something big for you. I promise.”
Her hesitation was plain, but finally she relented. “Okay. I’ll be up in a bit.” She blew out a low, long sigh. “You better be right about this, Jack,” she said.
Minutes later, she arrived, skeptical but with an edge of hope on her face. Together they went into Mattis’s ready room.
Ramirez set up her camera. It was a dinky little thing, about the size of a fist, balanced precariously on a too-thin tripod.
Into it, Mattis told the galaxy the truth.
He told them that the aliens who attacked Earth were not extraterrestrial beings, but humans. Humans, that they had thought were from the future, but now believed were created by a secret government project.
He told them that the world governments had created a system called the Ark Project.
He told them that Senator Pitt was deep into the conspiracy.
He told them that President Schuyler knew all of this and had done nothing.
He mentioned the Deep State. That it was behind these human experiments, through a front company, MaxGainz.
He told them … everything.
The whole thing was cathartic. Searing, hurting, but like ripping off a scab, strangely pleasurable. It felt good to come out from behind the wall of half-truths and barely-kept secrets.
And when it was done, Ramirez stood up, slowly, as though in shock, and turned the camera off.
“That’ll be beaming out to the whole galaxy in a minute or so,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “Once it’s finished compressing. You have about … twenty seconds to change your mind.”
Mattis smiled confidently. “No changing my mind. We’ve told all of humanity everything there is. Named names, shown them where the bodies are buried. Should have done it a long time ago.”
“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Ramirez. “There’s going to be consequences for this, you know.”
He knew that. One simply couldn’t do what he’d done and expect that things would just be okay.
But, right at that moment, it felt good.
Mattis’s communicator chirped and, with a cautious hand, he pulled it open. “Yes?”
“Sir,” said Lynch. “The fleet’s turned away.” He laughed and, in the background, Mattis could hear the bridge crew celebrating. “They’re leaving.”
Ramirez smiled and Mattis smiled back.
“Nice work,” she said, casually folding up the camera. “You did the right thing, Jack.”
“You’re right,” said Mattis, standing up out of his chair. “Now I gotta go make sure my ship is okay.”
“This isn’t over,” cautioned Ramirez as she slid her camera into her bag. “It’s just beginning.”
A problem for another day. Mattis managed a little half-smile—it really was good to see her again. “So,” he asked, “what have you been up to?”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Private Office
Genetics Lab
Chrysalis
Kepler-1011 system
“What do you mean,” hissed Senator Pitt, his hands clenched by his sides, “that the fleet has turned back?”
President Schuyler’s voice was, on the surface, apologetic, but he could tell—could sense below the level of her politician’s lies—that she was secretly glad. “I had no choice,” she said. “The US Chairman of the Joint Chiefs telephoned me personally and asked me to explain why I was giving direct orders to a navy battle group. I couldn’t do anything but tell him that I was acting on a personal tip I’d received. One of an urgent nature. One I couldn’t share with him or it would compromise national security. He didn’t buy it.”
“You realize,” said Senator Pitt, “that I do not care if he bought it or not, right? I expected results, and I—”
“Will not be getting them,” said President Schuyler, flatly. “Mattis’s broadcast implicated you in all of this—hell, he did more than implicate you. He flat out said you were partially responsible. When you finally make your way back to Earth, Senator, you will find yourself embroiled in a shitstorm the likes of which you cannot possibly imagine.” She chuckled. “I daresay your political career is over, Peter.”
He knew it was likely true, but he almost didn’t care. “Fine. You know as well as I do—you have to protect me. If I burn, you burn, Madam President.”
“If you burn,” said President Schuyler, “I might get singed on my finger. I’ll weather this storm, Senator. You, on the other hand, will not.”
“Do something,” growled Pitt angrily. “Do something!”
“Now is not the time for haste,” said President Schuyler, her politician’s voice in full force. “Mattis is seen as a hero. I have my own reputation to protect—even if you run crying to the media with what you know, they’ll be too distracted by this, a far more newsworthy issue. And frankly, I will be too. To cover my ass with this I’m going to have to appoint a blue-ribbon commission, have the attorney general call up a special prosecutor, sign executive actions, and all manner of unsightly business. I’m going to be very busy.” She paused. “You
might think I need you, Senator Pitt, but the reality is, you need me instead.”
She hung up.
Slowly, Pitt returned his communicator to his pocket, simmering with fury.
Mattis and Schuyler would pay for what they’d done. For taking it all away.
Everything that he had done, his entire political career, gone in an instant. Every scrap of political credit, every favor, every—everything. Lost.
All he had left was …
He smiled. It would all be worth it.
Everything.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Hangar Bay
USS Midway
Orbit above Chrysalis
Kepler-1011 system
Guano guided her Warbird back to the Midway and, just as the ship touched down, the strange feeling drained out of her.
She powered down the ship and, as the energy left her Warbird, she too felt exhausted, like she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She stifled a rippling yawn.
“What,” said Flatline, playfully patting her on the back of the helmet. “Was that boring to you, Guano?”
She snorted and shook his hand off. “Naw, I just … I dunno. I just feel really sleepy. It’s nap time for the bat.”
The playfulness drained out of Flatline’s voice. “Is it the thing?”
“No,” she said firmly, although in truth she couldn’t know. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’m convinced.” Flatline coughed. “Hey, we’re back. Time to go see the medical staff.”
She knew it was true. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. Fine.” She pushed the cockpit canopy open button, the hinge unsealing itself with a hiss, then she hooked a leg over the edge of the starfighter.
Dizziness. The sensation of falling. Then, suddenly, she was on her back, sprawled out on the landing strip, facing the roof.
“Patricia!” called Flatline, struggling to get out of his seat. “Oh my god! Hey! Wake up!”
The Last Hero: Book 2 of The Last War Series Page 27
