The Last Strike: Book 5 of The Last War Series

by Peter Bostrom

  The connection went dead.

  Nailed it. Mattis’s grin spread from ear to ear.

  “That was a risky move,” said Spears, shaking her head mirthlessly. “How did that even work?”

  “Even today, it’s difficult to understand the kind of corruption that goes on in China and their galactic colonies,” he said. “Graft, bribery, nepotism, unilateral action, patronage, statistical falsification… you name it, it’s there. The thing is they have this concept… face. You want to save face. You want to be seen as a law abiding citizen, a good person, a cooperative person who doesn’t make a fuss. I’m almost positive they don’t have formal jurisdiction over this area and that’s why they were so aggressive—they wanted us to back off without asking any questions.”

  Spears nodded thoughtfully. “So you’re saying,” she said, “that this fleet of ships is just like us. Just winging it, trying to solve a puzzle without any real authority to do so.”

  “Oh no,” said Mattis, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Not at all. We have Special Agent Blair aboard. She may not be the whole of the FBI, not even the intergalactic branch, but we have something and they have nothing. We’re totally legitimate here.”

  “That we are,” said Blackwood, also smiling.

  “Get her to the hangar bay ASAP,” said Spears, “and make sure she’s briefed. We only have forty-eight hours and I want her boots on that station as soon as we can. What support can we send?”

  “Certainly not Marines,” Mattis said. “The locals hate the military. They would probably string them up on sight.”

  “What if we gave them plain clothes?”

  It was tempting, but on short notice, what they could come up with would probably not be very convincing. “You need a certain air to fit in there,” he said. “Military people tend not to have it. A kind of roguish scoundrel look and feel, and it goes beyond what you’re wearing. You basically have to smell like a civilian.”

  Spears considered. “I brought Lieutenant Corrick along for her knowledge. Is she fit for a trip down to that asteroid?”

  “Not yet,” said Blackwood. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  She clicked her fingers thoughtfully. “Ahh, blast it all. She would have been quite useful.”

  Even though it was impossible, the very idea nagged at him. Such a mission would require trust. Trust in her.

  Trust in Corrick… after what she’d done.

  For some reason, it burrowed into him. Images of Corrick betraying them again flashed into his mind, too sudden and powerful to dismiss. He’d been suppressing his feelings about this for too long. Rage shot through his body, anger so pure and wild it hit him in the small of his back like a hammer. Images—vivid, visceral, powerful image—leapt into his mind unabated, images of Chuck’s mangled arm pinned under the wreckage of the Stennis, of the ship’s reactor cores igniting, blasting him to atoms. There wasn’t even a body for him to bury.

  And it was her fault.

  “Damn good thing she’s still sick,” he snarled, surprising himself with how forcefully it came out. “Hopefully she succumbs and we never have to worry about her betraying us again. Killing our people again.”

  Silence fell over the bridge.

  “You okay?” asked Spears, quietly. “Admiral?”

  He realized his hands were in fists by his sides, his feet shifted into a fighting stance.

  Slowly, deliberately, he relaxed. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s just…”

  With perfect calm, Spears nodded slowly and deliberately. “Of course,” she said. “Blackwood, arrange the away mission. Regardless of what we might want or not want, Lieutenant Corrick, of course, has no part of it; make sure Blair takes point on this one. I think it’s time for her to finally prove herself to be useful.” Spears gestured to the door to her ready room. “Admiral Mattis, a word? Now, if you please.” Her tone brooked no debate.

  With a heavy sigh, Mattis turned and walked toward the ready room.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Captain Spears’s ready room

  HMS Caernarvon

  Kepler-1011 system, near Chrysalis

  Mattis stepped into the ready room, folding his hands behind his back. He wasn’t entirely accustomed to getting berated by superior officers, especially not the commanding officer of ships, but his court case had given him a taste of what it felt like. Internally, he berated himself, his own internal voice far more cutting than whatever Spears would hurl at him.

  You idiotic old man. Get it together. This is an important mission and you’re fucking it up for everyone. Blackwood nearly got herself frozen into a popsicle and she’s holding up much better than you are…

  Spears moved to her desk as though to sit, but instead, just rested her hand on the back of her expensive leather chair. “What was that, Jack?” she asked, an uncharacteristic softness in her voice.

  “No excuse, Ma’am,” said Mattis, formally.

  “No excuse, Ma’am.” Spears echoed what he said in a quite passable American accent. “Don’t give me that. This isn’t about the chain of command—I know you better than to think you and I need to be following that right here, right now.” She paused for emphasis. “But that, my old friend, is just between you and me. There isn’t—can’t be—any sign that there’s weakness in me, or in you, in front of the bridge crew. That kind of thinking spreads like cancer, Jack. And I won’t have it on my ship.”

  “Even if it’s true,” said Mattis, the admission stinging his pride more than he cared to admit to himself. “I… I’m sorry, Pippa. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She ran her hand along the back of her chair. “You’re damn fucking right you shouldn’t have.” Hearing the normally calm, reserved Englishwoman swear like that was jarring. “But it’s fine. We can airbrush that out of our memories if you like. This isn’t what this is about. I just mean to ask… we haven’t talked about Chuck. Not really. Not properly.”

  It was true. He hadn’t spoken to Spears about it, or Elroy about it really, or anyone. He’d kept the grief and the anger and the pain all bottled up deep inside him, had paved over those feelings with other things, and… and now, in an instant, the thought of putting Elroy in danger had bought it all back to the surface—even if the poor kid was a thousand light years away sitting on a beach or something.

  He knew he had overreacted wildly to Spear’s offhand suggestion, but he couldn’t help it. Mattis felt just as bad now, as the moment the Rhinos had dragged him into the shuttle…

  “When you have a child,” said Mattis, softly, “and you lose them, a bit of yourself dies. That’s just something that I have to deal with, and I’m dealing with it in the only way I know how: protecting Elroy, and helping my country. That person… that person that I was… Admiral Jack Mattis. He died on that ship. All that’s left is the remainder. Captain Jack Mattis. Lesser. Some…” he struggled for the right word. “Part of me has been removed, Pippa. I’m different now. And I don’t think I can come back.”

  Spears smiled, but it was a sad, empty smile. “Well, if it helps, I dealt with it by drinking.”

  That surprised him, enough that he didn’t fully process it the moment he said it. “Sorry?”

  “When I lost my first child, I self-medicated with brandy and vodka mixers, hold the mixers. There’s a certain mindset about drinking liquor neat; because, well, it tastes like arse, don’t you know? Burns the throat on the way down, not a pleasant experience at all. But we do it because of a simple flaw in our biological makeup: we can only feel pain in one part of our bodies at once, so if our throat’s on fire, our heart carries on.”

  “I… didn’t realize you and Peter had kids,” said Mattis, softly.

  “We don’t. Four miscarriages, Mattis. And each one of them well over three months. At that point you essentially give birth, did you know that? It’s bloody painful, and afterward you have nothing to show for it but your pain—most of which you can’t see anyway. So every time, well, I drank away those feel
ings, and finally, I got too old for all that nonsense so the problems sorted itself out.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mattis, genuinely. “You never told me…”

  “I never told a lot of people. Even Peter thinks I only had two,” she said, sighing and running a hand through her hair. “So, look. I know you’re distracted right now. I know you’re in pain. And I know that pain. I’m not saying it’s easy—or that it’ll get easier—or that any of that trite, fortune-cookie nonsense is true, but what I’m saying is, we have a job to do and I need to know, truthfully, if you can do it or not. Because look. You’ve done your part. You got us the Reardons. You got us to Chrysalis, and bought me the key to getting past the Chinese. You got yourself bloody blown up and my XO along with you. There is absolutely, absolutely no shame in walking away at this point, your head held high, knowing you did your best. I won’t bring up Corrick again outside of business. I promise.” She paused, giving him time to process. “And if it helps, Elroy is safe, too, a long way away from here. And if you want to join him…”

  Mattis smiled a little. “The thought never even crossed my mind for an instant. I’m here for the end for this, no matter what.”

  Spears smiled in return. “Very well. Let’s get back out there, then, shall we? Clock’s ticking.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Mattis. “Hell, maybe I’ll even have some too.”

  Laughing, Spears clapped approvingly. “We’ll make a bloody good Englishman out of you yet, Admiral Jack Mattis.”

  Admiral…

  “Is that a compliment?” He grinned teasingly. “I can’t tell.”

  Spears shooed him out the door. “You promised me tea,” she said. “Don’t cock it up.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And Jack?” Spears’s voice got serious again. “Good talk.”

  “Good talk,” he echoed. “I’ll help Blackwood get the away mission ready, go wake up the Reardons, and then I’ve got to call our little pet investigator and see if she’s available to stretch her legs…”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Blair’s Quarters

  HMS Caernarvon

  Caernarvon

  Kepler-1011 system

  Special Agent Denelle Blair had taken nearly a full day to recover from her bout of space sickness, and she was furious about it.

  She had once read Mark Twain’s description of seasickness: at first, one would be so sick that they would be afraid they would die, and then they would be so sick they would be afraid they wouldn’t die.

  It wasn’t quite that bad, but it was bad. Maybe about… eighty percent that bad. She’d taken medication, puked it up, taken more medication, and puked that up, too. Only now, aboard the Caernarvon—a much more steady, stable vessel—was she beginning to recover. Even on a starship, with a perfectly functional artificial gravity, something about it still felt… off. It wasn’t natural, and whatever tiny differences there were between real gravity and fake gravity took time to adjust to.

  Humans were meant to live on the ground, safe and secure with earth underneath them and blue skies overhead. Not out in steel boxes floating in the vacuum.

  Finally she was feeling better—better enough to worry about all the drama with the alarms and klaxons and whatnot.

  “Mattis to Blair,” came a voice from her communicator.

  Eyeing the device cautiously, she picked it up. “Blair here. What’s up, Captain?”

  There was something in his tone that suggested she wasn’t about to like what he had to say. “We’ve arrived at Chrysalis and it turns out there’s a Chinese blockade in place.”

  “Oh boy,” said Blair. “I’m loving where this is heading.”

  “It gets worse. We have reason to suspect that a lead to our man, Yim, can be found there—the only problem is getting in. The Chinese don’t want a military presence, so… all we have is you and the Reardons. The two—ahem—enterprising young gentlemen have contacts in the area. But only the two of them and you are going over. No backup. That’s all we have, civilians-wise.”

  “Shame we couldn’t bring Corrick on this trip,” said Blair. “She knows the terrain. That would be useful.”

  There was a pause. “Corrick’s not coming.”

  For a moment she thought there might be something more to that, some other part that she was missing. Her investigator’s urges nagged at her, but she brushed them aside. Mattis wasn’t under the microscope here. “O…kay. I guess it’s just the three of us then. What are the local laws about sidearms? You aren’t thinking of sending us in there with just our fists, are you?”

  Mattis laughed down the line, somewhat incredulous. “Wait, you’re a federal agent and you don’t know about Chrysalis?”

  “I know you mentioned it during our interview,” she said, somewhat defensively. “And I know you and Spears mentioned it a couple of times. Isn’t that the place where the Midway got destroyed?”

  “Yes,” said Mattis stiffly.

  “Seems like some kind of standard hive of scum and villainy type place.”

  “Right,” said Mattis. “It’s a bit more than that, though. I mean, I didn’t even mention the minefield yet.”

  “Minefield?” Blair stared at the bulkhead. “It’s deactivated, right? The mines are deactivated?”

  Mattis said nothing.

  “Oh, that’s just great.”

  “Yeah. My thoughts exactly. Look, it’s a tiny asteroid in the orbit of Kepler-1011. Like most settled ‘roids it has its own culture, and Chrysalis is the kind of place where one can buy anything, and the only real law is ‘don’t fuck with people unless you want to be fucked with’. You wanna walk down the street carrying an anti-tank rocket launcher? You go right ahead. There’s not even a local police force there, so…”

  “So wait, why do you need me?”

  “Because Chrysalis likes existing, and they exist because the governments of the world permit them to exist. They permit them to exist because, well, there’s no labor laws there, and so unscrupulous companies do shady shit there.”

  “What’s this all have to do with me?”

  “Well, they have a—a fluid and flexible grasp of what is law and order there. The way it works is they have a thing called the Non-Aggression Principle, or NAP. It’s pretty simple: if anyone hurts anyone, everyone kills that person.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “But,” said Mattis, “they understand that murderers and psychos will flee anywhere where the law can’t touch them, and when they arrive in that place, they’ll keep up with the murdering of the locals instead. They don’t want to be murdered, probably very slightly less than they don’t want law enforcement sniffing around their business. If they ID you, they won’t be happy to see you—not one bit—but if you don’t openly identify as a federal agent, and don’t hurt anyone, you should be okay. All we need to do is talk to Reardon’s contact. Just meet the person, get the information about Yim, if there is any to be had, and get out. Don’t arrest anyone, just ignore what you see.”

  “Yeah,” said Blair, somewhat bitterly. “Space is great. I definitely made the right choice in coming out here.”

  Mattis chuckled. “I know, but you wanna find Yim, don’t you?”

  “Right.” She clenched her jaw. “Okay, well, how are we getting there? I don’t think I can handle a shuttle. The Caernarvon will dock with the place and transfer us over, right?”

  Mattis was silent.

  “Right?”

  More silence. Then, “I’m afraid it has to be a shuttle.”

  Blair groaned and ended the call. It was just getting better and better.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Recovery Ward

  Infirmary

  HMS Caernarvon

  Orbit near Chrysalis

  Guano woke up with the absolute worst headache she’d ever had in her entire life, period. And one time she had drunk a whole bottle of absinthe just to prove to her flight crew that she could, earning herself a three day stay
in the infirmary for alcohol poisoning.

  But this. Damn, this was something else. It wasn’t just her head. It was everywhere. Her every muscle ached, as though her body was protesting its very existence. Not that she could do anything about that, but at least she didn’t have tiny robots in her brain anymore.

  “Ow.”

  Wincing in pain, Guano reached over and, very slowly, grabbed hold of the call button. She needed pain meds yesterday.

  Within seconds, a pair of nurses arrived, and with them, Doctor Manda. “How are you feeling?” she asked, tittering happily. She had obviously been waiting outside.

  “I feel like total shit,” Guano said truthfully. “My head is killing me. My whole body feels like it got hit by a truck, and then that truck got run over by a much bigger, much heavier truck that crushed the first truck into little tiny pieces, and then all those little pieces got forced into my body. And then they exploded.”

  “That’s normal,” said Doctor Manda, smiling. “Sedatives can sometimes feel like a hangover. They’re not good, but believe me, the actual pain is much worse.”

  “I feel pain,” said Guano, grimacing. “Definitely pain.”

  “It’s nothing like what you’d be feeling without the medication.”

  Well, that was reassuring. Burning pain continued to sear around her scalp, like a thousand fire ants were crawling under her skin. “So what now? My head is really killing me, Doc.”

  Doctor Manda frowned, taking a clipboard from one of the nurses, scribbling something on it, then handing it back. “I’m upping your dosage a little,” she said. “Just enough to take the edge off.”

  “Gimme,” said Guano.

  Doctor Manda touched her wrist mounted computer and, almost immediately, Guano felt the drugs flow into her system. Not enough—she still ached all over—but it helped dull the roar.

  “Why can’t you just knock me out?” Guano asked, shifting in her bed, trying to get comfortable without moving too much. “Kinda don’t want to be awake for this part.”