The Last Champion: Book 4 of The Last War Series

by Nick Webb

  Chapter Seven

  Location unknown

  Chrysalis

  Guano ran, legs pumping as she surged down the corridor, following the four lines of light which—she hoped—marked an exit to the building. As she did, she passed a row of vats—vats which seemed ominously familiar. These ones had green fluid in them, and beyond, copies of Brooks. Copies of people she didn’t recognise.

  Lots of people.

  Pushing herself, she reached the doorway, slamming her shoulder into it as hard as she could. Although she knew, on some level, that shoulder-charging a door was a pretty stupid idea that never worked in real life, the door smashed and popped off its hinges, daylight flooding in.

  Or rather, the harsh, artificial lights of Chrysalis’s industrial district flooded in, near where her escape pod had crash-landed. Tall buildings, three to five stories, lined the crowded alley, the whole street lit by garish fluorescents that seemed, to her darkness-accustomed eyes, much brighter than she remembered.

  Everything was vaguely fuzzy, a slight blur around her vision, and she felt lightheaded. Adrenaline pushed all of that aside.

  A hideous growl, low and threatening like that of a giant cat, echoed down the street. From one end of the cramped alleyway, a trio of horrible green mutant creatures—thick arms and broad shoulders making it difficult to even fit inside the cramped space—raised their weapons at her. Stolen human rifles, possibly, seeming far too small for their huge hands.

  Guano leveled her pistol toward them and emptied the magazine, the staccato crack of the rounds echoing in the narrow alleyway. The wild, inaccurate fire caused the creatures to duck and cower in fear, but if she hit any, they showed no sign.

  Her rounds depleted, Guano turned and sprinted down the alley, taking the first turn that presented itself, a split second before a round hissed past her head, followed by a ripple of automatic weapons fire.

  A labyrinthine maze of tight alleyways and garbage-strewn gaps between buildings presented itself. Chrysalis was notably ungoverned, which had allowed structures to be built with an almost deliberate disregard for fundamental civic design philosophies; squat structures jutted out of the surface like teeth, and Guano had little time to make an informed decision.

  Her fantasy roleplaying group when she was younger had always had a philosophy: always go left. So she took the leftmost passage, thumbing the magazine release on her stolen pistol and jamming in a fresh one, nearly dropping the spare.

  Only one more mag, she thought, turning left again. Better not waste it.

  Angry voices behind her heralded more gunshots and the stamping of booted feet. Guano passed a large pile of garbage, cardboard and plastics piled up to her shoulders that blocked half the already tight passage.

  Perfect spot for an ambush. She stopped, crouching behind the garbage pile, pistol in both hands. Slowly, carefully, she nestled herself within the garbage, pulling cardboard sheets over her and trying, desperately, to ignore the smell.

  Horrible beasts approached. Green, mottled skin and grotesque faces, like in the video broadcast to the galaxy a month ago from that rogue scientist. Cardboard rustled, moving, as they pushed past the trash pile. Curses followed. Three, two….

  “I’m stuck,” said one of them, its voice a low growl.

  One. Guano leapt out of the trash pile, lining up her pistol to the leader of the hideous mutants. She put three shots in, center of mass, and the creature went down. Miss. Miss. Two more into the stunned creature behind it.

  The third fired its weapon, a frantic burst that clipped Guano’s left side. Her ribs cracked and she smelled blood. Pain flew up the side of her body, deep and burning, but she howled through the searing agony and put her last two rounds into the final mutant. It teetered for a second, then slumped against the wall, its rifle clattering to the ground.

  Hands shaking, Guano replaced the magazine in her pistol, gritting her teeth and trying to banish the searing fire that burned on her side. Damn it. She imagined she should have a snappy one-liner for these kinds of situations, but nothing came to mind. Nothing except anger, revulsion, and adrenaline-fueled panic. Shoot. She needed to shoot.

  She dropped the slide forward and put a round into the face of the first wounded mutant, then shot the last one twice to make sure. Clambering over some garbage, her ears ringing, she moved up to where the third mutant lay. It was no longer a threat. It was slumped up against the wall, bleeding from two holes in its chest, weapon laying useless at its feet.

  Cautiously, Guano moved forward and, slowly and carefully, picked up the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. Then, she stared down at the wounded monster. It looked back up at her with a strange, humanlike intelligence that she found unsettling.

  Her pistol twitched in her grip. She knew what she had to do. Finish the horrible creature like the others.

  But something stayed her hand, and the distant sound of approaching sirens sealed the deal. Guano tucked the pistol in a pocket of her still-wet jumpsuit and, without looking back, walked out of the alleyway and into Chrysalis proper.

  Chapter Eight

  Alleyway outside Doctor Brooks’s Lab

  Chrysalis

  The enemy was human.

  Private First Class Kaden Franks’s blood trickled from his wounds. Dying in some dirty alley on a foreign planetoid surrounded by the bodies of his squad. And he looked up at the horrible creature who had killed all of them with just a pistol, taken his rifle, and now seemed ready to finish him off, too.

  His enemy had vaguely human skin, a human face and human eyes. Just … greenish and warped and … monstrous. It looked like a woman in an orange jumpsuit, but a woman who’d been ruined by whatever experiments had been run on her. She had a military bearing. Short hair. She also looked like she didn’t want to shoot him.

  And she didn’t. She just walked off into the distance. In the feeble light he could almost swear he saw normal color return to her skin. As if her monstrous appearance was something … temporary.

  Franks breathed. Gently. The pain faded, replaced with lightheadedness. This is what it was like to die. Slowly, feebly, his hands found his radio.

  “K2,” he said, breathlessly. “Man down in section…” What section was this? “Eight.”

  “Roger,” said K2. “We’re en-route, one minute to your position. Hold tight K4.”

  No worries. K2 was a hell of an operator. What his real name was escaped him, but… K2, man. What a legend.

  Time passed. How much he couldn’t say, laying in the trash, the bodies of his squad cooling around him. He half expected the monster to come back, but she didn’t.

  Instead K2 arrived, medpack in hand.

  “Hey buddy,” he said, sliding in beside Franks and pressing the device to his chest. “I got you. Here.”

  His wounds began to hurt again. Hurt like they were being burned. Was it supposed to hurt? He kicked, feebly, but the device kept doing its work. It hurt, then itched, then…

  Well. He knew he was still wounded. It just meant the injury was sutured and wouldn’t bleed too much more. He’d need surgery, probably. And a bunch of other follow up work. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was something.

  “So,” said K2, with a grim smile. “The others?”

  “They’re dead,” said Franks, shaking his head. “No need.”

  “Damn.”

  Franks shifted slightly, the ache in his chest returning. “Where do you think she’s going?” he asked, trying to keep himself focused. “She can’t go far. I hit her. Pretty sure.”

  “That’s easy.” K2’s face lit up. “The only place it makes sense for her to go. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure she gets there.”

  That was good. His people hadn’t died for nothing.

  “Do you think she saw you as people?” asked K2, curiously. “Or monsters?”

  Franks grimaced. “Monsters,” he said. “People don’t kill people like that.”

  “Eh,” said K2, clearly unconvinced. “
I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. Just minutes ago I saw her put a bullet into an innocent scientist’s chest.” He rubbed his own chest. “Looked like it hurt.”

  “Either way,” said Franks, looking at the bodies of his dead squad. “I think whatever they were doing to her, it’s working.”

  Chapter Nine

  HMS Caernarvon

  Low Earth Orbit

  It had been a long time since Mattis had stepped foot on a Royal Navy ship. They were smaller, in general, than American ships, but more compact; they fit a surprising amount into a slightly smaller package. Still, for someone as tall as Mattis was, walking through the cramped corridors was a bit of a drain.

  “I hope you find the accommodations to your liking,” said Spears, leading him toward a tall, narrow door labeled State Room. “These are the VIP quarters.”

  Mattis smiled. “Can’t complain about that,” he said. “On the Midway the state room was almost as good as the CO’s quarters. Better, actually, in some ways.”

  The mention of his former ship cast a pallor over everything, and he regretted doing it. For what it was worth, Spears merely kept her polite, British smile. “I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.”

  With no luggage and only a few hours out of bed, Mattis had no desire to rest. “How long before the ship can be ready to commence Z-Space translation?”

  Spears straightened up slightly, almost eagerly, as though anticipating the question. “I’ve had my XO, Commander Blackburn, prepare everything as we were coming up from atmo’. Haleigh’s a peach, you’ll love her.”

  It was always good to have the best staff. Speaking of—“What about Commander Lynch?”

  “He’s being bought up right now. Seems a bit frustrated that, allegedly, this is the second time you’ve interrupted his fishing—apparently he self-described as ‘a mite ornery’—but he should be docking with the Caernarvon in about fifteen minutes.”

  It would be good to see Lynch again. “Promise him that, next time, he can fish as much as he wants. I won’t interrupt him even if the world’s ending.”

  “I’ll relay that message,” said Spears, gesturing for him to follow. “Let’s see the ship translate, shall we?”

  It felt odd to receive such a suggestion—and it was phrased kindly, in a way that suggested he could say no if he wanted to—after years of being the CO, but Mattis understood that, here, on this boat, Spears was in command. “Let’s,” he said, and followed her through the Caernarvon’s passageways, toward her armoured core.

  “Captain on the bridge,” said a smartly dressed young woman with shockingly white blond hair as the two of them entered.

  “Thank you, Commander Blackburn,” said Spears, moving to the command chair which, Mattis noted, was much farther aft than his old one had been. “What’s the status of my girl?”

  “She’s ready to jump, Captain,” said Blackburn. She tapped on a wrist-mounted computer for a moment. “All systems check in and all crew are aboard. Engineering has informed us we are good to go for Z-Space translation.”

  It was very strange not to have a direct line to the ship’s engineering team, but that was something Mattis was going to have to get used to.

  “Very good.” Spears settled into the command chair. “Execute Z-Space translation.”

  Mattis moved to stand beside her on the left. Blackburn moved to her right.

  The Caernarvon’s primary monitors were engulfed in a sea of bright, familiar, multi-hued lights as the ship transitioned into that strange, otherworldly place: Z-Space. It was just as it had been with the Midway. Otherwise, the ship seemed completely unaffected.

  “Just a short jump, then,” said Spears, nodding resolutely at the monitor. She seemed, if possible, more British since returning to her ship. Even her accent intensified. “Where’s my bloody tea?”

  A fresh-faced seaman stepped forward, cup and kettle in hand, and soon Spears, Blackburn, and Mattis held steaming cups in their hands.

  “More of a coffee drinker, myself,” said Mattis, lightly.

  “Barbarian,” said Spears, her tone playful, sipping at her drink.

  “Actually, ma’am,” said Blackburn, swirling her own cup idly, “I developed quite the habit while I was in Boston. Just one of those things, I suppose. Gold Coast Blend with a spot of milk. Lovely.”

  Spears clicked her tongue. “Heavens no. Can’t stand the stuff, honestly.” It sounded like a conversation they had had many times before. “Anyway. Admiral Mattis, while we’re making our translation to where that Avenir ship was headed… how are you holding up?”

  A difficult question to answer, but what grabbed his attention was the strange word. “Avenir, Captain?”

  “French for ‘future’,” said Blackwood. “Apparently it’s what all the kids are calling the future-humans these days. Homo insequens was apparently too much of a mouthful.”

  “Language marches on,” said Mattis, sipping his tea. “Maybe one day you’ll learn to drop all those silly u’s from your words and learn English properly.”

  “Not while I’m alive,” said Spears, her tone chipper. “We invented this language and you yanks are bloody well not going to bastardize it any more than you already have.”

  Mattis couldn’t help but smile. “Fair enough.” He took another sip of his tea which, despite its strangeness, he had to accept was not actually that bad. “And… I’m doing well. I lost command of the Midway before; I’m somewhat used to being on board a ship I’m not in command of.”

  Spears nodded, sipping her tea gently. “And your crew? How are they faring?”

  It was difficult to say with honesty. “Some of them are fine. Some of them aren’t. Most are somewhere in between; Fleet Command is doing their best to keep the crew together as much as possible, and so most of the crew are being transferred to the USS Stennis, where they’ll serve under Captain Flint. The Stennis was heavily damaged during the Battle of Earth when their forward superstructure decompressed. They lost a lot of good people and have been screaming for replacements for some time. Fortunately the fact that they got damaged means they managed to snag the same upgrades to their engines the Midway had. Those Chinese ones. They’re good.”

  “I know Captain Flint,” said Spears, with a cautious edge. “He’s a bit of a prick, but a good officer. They’ll do well there.”

  Mattis hoped so. He’d met Flint a few times over the years, at formal dinners and other events, but most of what he knew was rumor. And that rumor was that he was an asshole. Most notably, he’s heard that Flint and Admiral Fischer had, for many years now, maintained quite a bitter animosity the exact nature of which was difficult to pin down. Of course, hopefully baseless speculation abounded, mostly that they had been lovers at some point, which was as ridiculous as anything he’d ever heard. Leave it to the military to assume that everyone who hated each other had previously knocked boots.

  “I’m sure,” he said, somewhat guardedly. “As to what will happen to Modi, Lynch, and I, well, I’ll probably be sailing a desk for the rest of my career, and they are utterly determined to follow me in doing so, so… here we are.”

  “I’ll have the desk moved out of the state room,” said Spears, smiling at him.

  A moment of pleasant silence descended over everything.

  “Captain,” said Blackburn, her tone gathering energy. “We are arriving at the coordinates determined by Mister Modi.”

  Mattis almost gave the command but caught thankfully himself. He nearly jumped as a voice whispered in his ear, “Still not used to spectating on the bridgeHe turned to see ?” Commander Lynch grinning at him.

  “Translate the ship out of Z-Space,” ordered Spears. “And sound General Quarters throughout the ship. We have no idea what the hell is out there.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.” Blackwood touched her wrist. That thing seemed useful, Mattis thought. He should get one. “Sounding General Quarters. Z-Space translation in thirty seconds.”

  The ship’s bell, a different
sound from the American one, sounded throughout the bridge. Mattis felt that old, familiar feeling like electricity through his veins. The feeling of action stations. Of sailing into an unknown situation where anything could happen. He smiled lopsidedly back at Lynch. “I could get used to being a spectator. Not having everyone looking at you for the solution. Kicking back and relaxing as everything goes to hell around you, and for once you’re not responsible for getting everyone out of the frying pan.” He lied. That was exactly what he wanted, but maybe saying the opposite out loud would make it true.

  It didn’t. But Lynch went along with it anyway. “I hear ya, Admiral. And speaking of going from frying pans to fires, you interrupted a perfectly good salmon smoke I was doin’ up by Denali. Have you seen those Alaskan salmon? Bigger than Modi’s brain,” he held up his hands a shoulder’s width apart. “Not quite as big as his ego though.”

  The seconds ticked away as the Caernarvon translated out of the unreality that was Z-Space and reappeared in the black, inky void.

  “Report,” said Spears.

  “Nothing on radar,” said Blackwood. “Pulsing again just to be sure. Squawking IFF on all channels, passive eyes are on. Thermals are searching for hot-spots.”

  One of the bridge officers clicked on the main monitor. Mattis recognized the place instantly; Pinegar System. The Gas Giant Lyx.

  Or more correctly, what was left of it. The future-humans—or Avenir, he mentally corrected himself—had opened a rift in the system to the future, and in doing so, destroyed a gas giant and all its attendant moons. The Midway had barely escaped from the system in time.

  Planets, it seemed, did not die quietly. The ship had exited Z-Space in the middle of the debris field, and now rocks small and large whizzed past the ship at an entirely alarming rate. Rarely in space was debris so close and so active.