The Last Champion: Book 4 of The Last War Series

by Nick Webb

  The spin stabilized and stopped accelerating, but the starboard engine flamed out completely and died.

  Stable, but not safe. Time to navigate. Roadie’s whole HUD was out. Many of his panels were working on emergency power. Damn it. “Hey Frost, help me out here. We gotta get engine power back online.”

  Still nothing. Internal radio must be out. He looked for a landmark.

  The planet. Vellini, they had called it. It passed by his canopy as the fighter spun. Every time it appeared he could swear it looked larger. His ship was moving toward it. Fast, too. Given how damaged it was, there was no way it would survive reentry.

  Communicate. The radio would be working on emergency backup power.

  “Alpha 01 transmitting in the blind guard, mayday, mayday, mayday. I’m hit. I’m hit. Dead stick, total loss of power.”

  Guano’s voice came to his ears. Patricia. “This is Guano, relaying mayday call for Alpha 01. Roadie’s hit. Confirming he is hit.” Damn it, Patricia. Why are you so… Patricia-like. There was a slight crack in her voice, just a little bit. “Christ, he’s fucked up.”

  The J-88 continued its spin. He had been using military power when he tried to avoid those missiles. Military power in the J-88 was crazy amounts of thrust.

  He kicked out experimentally with his feet, testing the pedals. They felt sticky and the ship didn’t move at all. Was there an oil leak? His suit was intact. Couldn’t smell a thing.

  “Hey, Frost, check the hydraulics.” He looked in his rearview mirror, trying to catch her eye. “There might be a—”

  Her helmet drifted into sight, the side and front of it punctured by shrapnel. Thick, dark globs of blood drifted out.

  She couldn’t have survived that. Nobody could.

  Frost was gone.

  Closing his eyes a moment, Roadie turned his thoughts inward. “Bismillaahi,” he said. “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.” From God we come, to God we shall return.

  No more time to worry about the departed. Roadie opened his eyes, and found his visor full of the rapidly-approaching planet. Okay. Maybe it wouldn’t. If he had to bail out, Frost would go with him.

  Flames licked at the side of his craft as it kissed the atmosphere, and his hands drifted down to the ejection handle. When the ship stopped burning up, slowed down, and was well inside the atmosphere, then he would eject.

  Assuming he lived that long.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Bridge

  HMS Caernarvon

  Vellini, High Orbit

  Vellini System

  Tiberius Sector

  The Warrior and the rest of Fischer’s fleet moved to engage. Mattis moved beside Spears, standing to her left.

  “Helm,” said Spears, “move to engagement range. Turn the ship to bring our rear guns and missile tubes into effective direct firing angles. Tea time, if you would, Commander Blackwood.”

  Tea time. A maneuvering tactic designed to maximize armor thickness by tilting it, exposing a tiny sliver of the ship’s side. It originally came about from tank crews, angling their armor so that the vehicle was pointed to ten o’clock and two o’clock. US ships had a so-called pike nose, the front of the ship at an already angled spike, designed to optimize the armor angle. Clever of Spears to use an old British tank tactic in a massive starship. It spoke to her command style—old and new.

  “Tea-time adopted, ma’am,” said Blackwood. “We’re in an optimum firing position. I’ll have an ensign put the kettle on.”

  “Very well,” said Spears, shifting in her chair. “Irish Breakfast if you could, Commander Blackwood. And fire.”

  The Caernarvon rocked as it sent out a wave of gunfire, the hull humming with the distant pounding of guns, the vibration transmitted through the ship’s superstructure and into the CIC. It was so much more visceral and loud inside the smaller, more compact frigate than in the larger cruiser. There, weapons fire—despite being from much larger guns—was almost imperceptible.

  Not so for this ship. More things to get used to.

  The bright cannon streaks leapt across the dark of space, flying toward the hostile ship. They came in a wave, focused on the center of mass.

  “Captain,” said Blackwood, her brow furrowing. “We’re receiving a transmission from a nearby civilian vessel. The Aerostar. Text only.”

  “Civilians?” Spears scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  Blackwood continued to read. “They say that the stolen children from New Kentucky are aboard that ship.”

  “Put him through,” said Spears.

  Blackwood said something into her headset, and moments later Harry Reardon’s familiar voice blared over the speakers. “As I was saying to your lovely assistant, Ms. Spears, we just barely escaped with our necks intact from the Jovian Logistics HQ on Christchurch business park station. And my lovely assistant Mr. Bratta downloaded some … interesting data from their computers. Haven’t read through it all yet, but my third lovely assistant, Mr. Smith, determined that they’ve got something called Operation Ad Infinitum going on here.”

  “What the hell is that, Mr. Reardon?” said Mattis, with a quick glance of apology to Spears. She nodded back, making clear she wasn’t going to take issue with him getting involved.

  “Admiral Mattis! Good to hear your voice again, Mr. Admiral sir. I’ve got someone here you’ll be happy to see, but to your question: we, uh, don’t know. But Smith went through the operations log, and it looks like they’re not only behind the salvaging of that Avenir ship out there, but they were also behind the kidnapping of those kids on New Kentucky. He thinks there’s a better-than-even chance they’re being held over there. Almost like—”

  “Human shields,” muttered Spears. “Good Lord.”

  Mattis’s chest tightened. He wanted to break off the attack, but with the hostile ship charging its weapon, he knew there was only one right decision here—and it wasn’t his to make. He looked to Spears.

  With calm and precise language, Spears almost didn’t let any of her true emotions through. Almost. “Thank you, Mr. Reardon, that will be all for now. Press the attack, Commander Blackwood,” she said, with barely even a waver. “Coordinate fire patterns with the USS Stennis. Link our targeting computers and synchronize our attack.”

  One of the bridge officers confirmed it. Mattis could only stare at the ship. So many children aboard… but it was the right decision. They couldn’t risk the lives of a few dozen for Vellini. Even if they were children. Another wave of cannon fire went out. And another.

  “Captain,” said Blackwood, her words calm and professional, but gilded with concern. “We are detecting another transmission. Not from the Aerostar; a microburst. Origin unknown, but I’ll wager a guess who they’re hailing.”

  Their cannon fire struck home, exploding in silent, distant bursts that sparkled as they blew armor and material in all directions. Mattis squinted to see. Did the British always have things so poorly magnified? Or were his eyes getting old?

  The hostile ship began turning toward them, slowly swinging its nose away from Vellini. Perhaps because they shot it, or perhaps it was because of the transmission—either way, Mattis and the rest of the Caernarvon bridge crew had no time to think about it.

  Blackwood spoke first. “Ma’am—”

  “I see it,” said Spears. “Continue firing.” She tapped at the holographic computer on her wrist, quickly typing out some message. Blackwood’s computer chirped the second she hit send. It was no secret who she was messaging.

  Mattis scowled. They were cutting him out of the loop…

  As though sensing his distress, Spears tilted her wrist toward him, showing the message she had typed.

  Message transmitted to Christchurch station from nearby. It’s not coming from them, nor the Aerostar: it’s coming from us. Us or the Stennis.

  We have a mole.

  A troubling development.

  “Commence broad-spectrum jamming immediately, Command Blackwood. No more of
those transmissions. Quick as you please.”

  “Aye, ma’am. I’ll signal the strike craft and tell them to engage in frequency modulation to avoid their comms being scrambled.”

  “Very good, Commander Blackwood.”

  The alien ship completed its turn and came to face the Stennis. Weapons bristled and charged, turning to engage the ships around them. Silent flashes in the dark signaled incoming weapons fire, aimed in all directions, including directly toward the camera.

  An ensign arrived, steaming pot of tea in hand, and began to pour Captain Spears a cup. She kept her eyes on the screen, ignoring the effort. “Commander Blackwood, please avoid scratching the paint on my ship.”

  The ship lurched. The ensign nearly spilled tea all over the deck, managing to save it by inches. With remarkable agility, the Caernarvon drifted out of the way of the shots, returning with a volley of her own.

  Spears, seemingly satisfied, nodded his way. “Expertly done. Admiral, if you wouldn’t mind, work with Blackwood.”

  That was her way of saying make yourself useful and stop sitting around waiting for things to happen. He moved up beside the focused young woman. “What can I do?” he asked.

  Blackwood pointed to her XO’s console. It had a display full of the status of the strike craft; one of the birds from the Stennis had been hit. Their CAG. The stricken craft was drifting toward Vellini. “Get the SAR bird out there,” he said. “They don’t have to intervene just yet, but the sooner they can interdict, the better. Entering the atmosphere in a damaged bird is bad news.”

  “Good idea,” said Blackwood. “Ejection is a messy business.”

  There was little else he could do, so he returned his gaze to the main monitor. Despite the damage, he felt useless. And he felt angry that he felt useless. The skunk was being pounded from all sides by Fischer’s fleet; a solid stream of gunfire flowed toward it from dozens of ships, each shell bursting on the hull of the alien ship in a bright sparkle. Flames licked out of multiple breaches. Yet it would have happened if he hadn’t been on-board at all.

  A red warning flashed on Blackwood’s monitor. The energy surge was back; much bigger than he’d ever seen. Much larger than the mass driver that had attacked Earth.

  “Captain,” said Mattis, “we got a big problem. That ship is still charging. It should have either powered down or fired by now. It should be—”

  The ship flashed sky blue, as though lit up through some light source within that was so bright it was able to pierce the hull itself. Beams shone out from every window, crack, and hull breach, stretching out into infinity. Like the giant fingers of a god, they snapped to narrow beams, clutching each of the ships, including their own.

  Immediately, the Caernarvon lurched forward, throwing Mattis off his feet. Blackwood fell on top of him, her elbow driving into his side, her hair spilling over his face.

  No time for chivalry. Mattis roughly shoved her off, climbed to his feet, then offered her his hand—only to find she’d flipped back onto her feet on her own. No small feat, given the shaking and pitching deck.

  “All engines full reverse,” howled Spears. “Helm! Quickly now!”

  The main monitor was awash with blue. Through it, he could see nothing. Every monitor was overloaded with warnings and errors, and all outside cameras could show was the blue.

  “Blackwood,” said Mattis, half walking, half staggering to the XO’s console. The world felt heavy, as though the artificial gravity were turned up too high. “Engines aren’t going to be enough. We have to break the beam.”

  “I’m listening,” said Blackwood, appearing beside him. Her hair hung down her shoulders as though wet, pulled to the ground by gravity. “And what the devil’s wrong with the pull?”

  Mattis stared at the monitor. “The computers are adjusting it manually,” he said, pointing. “They’re trying to maintain 1g, but they’re having to push us up to stop us from being crushed.”

  At the rate they were accelerating, they’d be pulled into the skunk in minutes.

  “Options?” asked Blackwood.

  “Fire all we got,” he said. “That blue shit has got us good, but it came from cracks in the hull. If we unload at them, we might be able to disrupt it.”

  “Might?” She stared at him in skeptical bewilderment, then roughly shook her head. “Fuck it, I don’t have a better idea.”

  It was bad when the notoriously calm, reserved British officers were swearing. Mattis’s fingers flew over the keyboard. All guns. Load high explosive rather than armor piercing. He set the bearing relative to the beam—000.

  Gravity pulled him down, sinking his shoulders and making his bones ache. Gritting his teeth, Mattis fought through the pain and slammed his fist onto the fire key.

  Shots rang out, and then the acceleration pulled Blackwood down to the deck, Mattis following.

  He hit hard. Something tore in his right shoulder; something deep. He could feel the limb dislocate, and searing pain leapt up his arm.

  His chest tightened. An invisible hand pushed him down, rolling him onto his back, crushing the life out of him. Blackwood lay nearby, face down, gasping for air, blood trickling out of the side of her mouth, her face ashen and tainted blue by the light from the monitor.

  And then, with a dull rumble, the effect faded. For a moment, Mattis felt himself be pushed up, toward the ceiling, until the Caernarvon’s computers caught up with what was happening and unceremoniously dropped them back to the deck again.

  Right onto his injured shoulder. Another wave of pain told him in no uncertain terms it was damaged. Old man, you’re coming apart at the seams.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, then pulled himself up by his left hand. The main monitor was washed out and faded, but its vision returned.

  Fischer’s fleet had been pulled right up against the hostile ship. Barely a kilometer away from the thing, hovering, suspended, as though held through whatever invisible force had yanked them there.

  “This is Admiral Fischer.” A box appeared on the side of the screen, showing Fischer’s battered face, her hair in tangles and her uniform scorched and torn. Half her face was covered in red welts and burns, and her bridge appeared to be full of smoke. “Mattis, you have to get out of here. The energy buildup isn’t complete. It’s—”

  And then the Avenir ship exploded in a white ball of light, enveloping everything and consuming the American fleet instantly.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Cargo Bay

  The Aerostar

  Near Christchurch Corporate Business Park station

  Vellini, High Orbit

  Vellini System

  Tiberius Sector

  That was intense.

  Bratta kept breathing, kept trying to keep his heart rate at something less than his maximum—no time for a heart attack, after all. His whole body ached as the adrenaline flowed out of him, his chest thumping madly.

  “So hey,” said Smith, coming over to him and giving a firm, polite nod. “You did great back there.”

  “Did I?” asked Bratta, his voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak. “I feel like I didn’t. I feel—I feel like I really dropped the ball. Like, super, really badly.”

  “Eh, you did fine. You didn’t blow our cover, you got the data, you got out okay.” Smith smiled. “Speaking of the data, let’s see what you can make of this techy section, ok? That might keep your mind off all this nonsense. Which is good. Believe me, there’ll be time enough later for reflection and second-guessing yourself.”

  That seemed like a good idea. He accepted the data pad Smith offered to him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Just indexing all the data now. In a few minutes we’ll be able to search for keywords and, you know, see what we can find.”

  “Sounds good,” said Smith.

  Lily stood off to one side, bracing herself against the bulkhead, panting, obviously trying to get her breath back. She was bleeding in many places, black blood trickling down onto the deck.

  “Y
ou okay?” asked Chuck, approaching her cautiously. “You … you did really good back there.”

  “Did good,” said Lily, flicking blood off her hand. “Did good.”

  Bratta could scarcely believe it. “You … got her to talk,” he said, blinking slowly. “To do a lot more than that too.”

  “Just needed a protein bar,” said Chuck, smiling at him. “And a bit of encouragement. Just like a regular human.”

  Protein bar. Encouragement. Right. Bratta nodded encouragingly. “Okay. I’m going to go look at the index now, okay?”

  “Index,” said Lily, straightening up until her head almost hit the roof.

  That was probably yes, he guessed. Bratta walked back to Smith, trying not to look over his shoulder in fear of the giant mutant who had, apparently, decided to come save them. “Okay, it should be done by now.”

  Chuck slid over as well, brow beaded with sweat. “Anything in there for Jack?” he asked.

  They had no way of knowing that yet. “I’ll take a look,” promised Bratta. “First thing.”

  His computer dinged. The index was complete.

  “Okay,” he said, stepping in front of the terminal and cracking his knuckles in a way he hoped look cool and in control. “Let’s open this up…”

  The terminal had indexed every word in the whole database. He inspected the output, flicking through it, narrowing the search. Congenital Heart. There we go!

  Ten thousand four hundred entries. “There’s a lot here,” he said, blinking in surprise. “Let’s narrow it down a little more.” Infant Congenital Heart.

  One entry. “Right here,” said Bratta, tilting the monitor so Chuck could see. “A research project into infant heart troubles. Looks like all the symptoms are there: shaking, trembling, intermittent clamminess and weakness, and where symptoms vanish completely. It’s, apparently, a symptom of a drug they’ve been working on for some time. It apparently does … something with the target’s DNA. The fix is a retrovirus.” Bratta read on. “Except, there’s more to it. More in a way I don’t understand yet. There’s some kind of DNA resequencing here. We’re looking at more than just a heart condition here.” He looked up, troubled. “I don’t know what the intended outcome is—it’s not clear from this data.”