by David Adams
*****
Jiuquan Satellite Launch Centre
People’s Republic of China
Earth
Eight years after the attacks
“CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW PROMOTION, Commander Liao. She’s a fine ship.”
Field promotions could be bittersweet. In most cases, they represented recognition of skill or capabilities beyond your current rank, deserving of reward. However, in this case, her promotion represented simple survival; it merely represented being alive after a catastrophe.
This, in Liao’s mind, was not an action worthy of advancement and adoration, but the choice had not been hers.
So much had changed since the attacks. If Liao hadn’t been in Sydney at the time, the attack on Beijing would have claimed her too. An unusually high number of naval officers had been attending their yearly, mandatory classes in the capitol at the time of the attack and had subsequently died. Due to her mission in Sydney, Liao had been given an exception to the training, which had ultimately saved her life.
Sydney had been attacked too, but the heavily reinforced research facility had saved her. No such luck for the shoddily constructed barracks the Navy called a training depot. Everyone in that building had been crushed. It had taken the rescue authorities a month to dig the bodies out.
It was a Pearl Harbour for the Chinese military; a sudden loss of resources gathered in one point. After the attacks, all over the fleet, every ship, every submarine, and every terrestrial base was screaming for experienced officers. They had all requested her, but they had all been denied because General Yang had offered her a command she couldn’t turn down.
After the attacks, China, India, Iran, and the EU all stepped up their space program under the banner of a multinational alliance called Task Force Resolution. With their combined resources, they were able to construct a lunar base, home to twenty thousand civilians and military personnel, almost all of whom worked on humanity’s hope for the future.
These hopes were called the Pillars of the Earth, and they took the form of three colossal spaceships just shy of six hundred metres long and weighing two hundred thousand tonnes each. Each was the size and mass of two aircraft carriers placed end to end, and the three of them had taken four years to build.
Each one had been named for a city bombed in the attacks. The TFR Tehran was the first completed, having completed its shakedown cruise eight weeks before without incident. The TFR Sydney was still in dry dock on the moon’s surface, awaiting the fitting of the last of its crew, weapons, and computers.
The TFR Beijing patiently awaited its captain, Commander Melissa Liao.
Liao extended her hand across the table, firmly shaking the hand extended to her. General Yang, a portly man well into his midfifties, returned the gesture. At Liao’s insistence, the conversation proceeded in English. She had to keep her language skills up; they were a valuable asset. After what had happened in Sydney, the command staff agreed by and large, albeit begrudgingly.
“Thank you, sir, and I’m sure he’s a very fine ship, from what I’ve seen in the simulations. I’m anxious to meet him.”
“Him?” General Yang tilted his head, seeming both curious and confused. “Commander, my understanding was the naval tradition dictated that a ship was always a woman.”
Liao ended the handshake and folded her hands behind her. “Not quite, sir. The implication is that the captain is married to the job. In my view, that says to me… female captain, male ship.”
The man stood, nodding appreciatively, and beckoned to the door. It was a simple chipboard affair, painted dull grey. However, behind it lay great things.
“Very well. Are you prepared for your trip?”
Liao nodded. “Bags packed, ready to go, sir.”
“Very well.” Yang opened the door. Beyond lay the launch site for the Changzheng 6D multistage rocket that would bear her to the stars. Seating forty, this personnel shuttle would be the last to depart for the lunar dry dock before the ship was fully crewed and ready for his mission.
Releasing the doorknob, Yang nodded, taking in the view of the launch pad. “I wish I was going with you.”
“Everyone does,” observed Liao. “This is the most popular command around. Every sailor in the People’s Navy would give their right nut to be scrubbing the heads on the Beijing.”
General Yang did not contest her assertion. “Right. Well, let’s get you suited up. The launch is in six hours, so we need you ready. There are a lot of preparations to be made yet.”
He paused, chuckling.
“Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. Before we get to that, your parents are here. They want to try to talk you out of going again. You’ve got a little bit of time to say goodbye to them if you want.”
Sighing and running her hand through her now short-cropped hair, Liao nodded. She had changed her hairstyle after the attacks. Where before, she had worn it as long as regulations allowed, she now kept her hair very short.
“Sure, why not.”
It took only a few minutes for the armoured car carrying Lan and Huan, her mother and father, to trundle its way to Yang’s office. They both disembarked and hurried towards her, grabbing her and squeezing her into an awkward three-way hug. Her parents, knowing her preferences for languages, spoke to her in English.
“Melissa! Oh, Melissa, I can’t believe they’re going to shoot you into space!”
Her mother was beside herself, as Liao had expected. Extracting herself from their arms, she did her best to calm them down.
“They’re not going to shoot me into space, Mum… jeez. And actually, it’s a huge honour. I’m going to be commanding my own ship—”
“I know, but… but…!”
Liao gently kissed her mother’s cheek. “Look, this is something I have to do, okay? It’s important to the nation and to all of humanity, really, as a species. And it’s very important to me.”
Her father, Huan, just shook his head. “Niu, you know you don’t have anything to prove—”
Hadn’t he learned by now? Melissa’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t call me Niu,” she said, folding her arms.
Lan looked back and forth between the two, trying to defuse the tension. “Look… please, this is a huge occasion, do you two have to fight now?”
Melissa stabbed her finger towards her father. “He knows how I feel about that name. My name is Melissa.”
Huan leaned forward slightly, becoming agitated. “Niu’s your name. It’s the name we gave you when you were born. That’s your name now, and it always will be!”
Melissa practically spat out her reply. “It’s the name you gave to your first daughter. I am not your replacement goldfish, and I never will be. Niu is dead. I have my own life to live and I won’t be haunted by the spectre of your dead child.”
It was true. Lan and Huan’s first child had been Niu Liao, and she had been the apple of her parents’ eyes. No great tragedy had fallen upon them, nor had there been any great conspiracy about it; Niu had just ever so quietly stopped breathing one night. It had taken her parents three years to even consider another child, and in memoriam to what they had lost, they had also called the newborn girl Niu.
Liao had learned the truth about her name when she was eight years old. She had stumbled upon a picture of her deceased baby sister during a move between apartments. At once, she had hated the very idea that the name that defined her individuality, that was supposed to be hers alone, was in fact all in honour of another person.
Frustrated and bitter about her parents’ decision, she had decided almost immediately to adopt a new name. She chose from Greek mythology, a subject she had been studying with interest in school. From those legends, Melissa had been a nymph who had discovered the secrets of making honey.
Liao had liked the idea of being named after a gentle discoverer, and she immediately adopted the moniker. Her father hated it and opposed her at every turn, but his wife was usually there to calm him down. She was allo
wed to keep the name. As the years passed, Lan had gently persuaded him to allow her, begrudgingly, to formally change her name when she turned sixteen.
She sometimes felt that her parents had such high hopes for Niu that Melissa couldn’t possibly live up to their expectations. No matter what she did in life, she felt she would always be second to what her parents imagined Niu could have done.
Sadness crept into her voice. “Can’t you just be happy for me?”
Her mother quickly comforted her. “Mel, we are happy.”
Huan turned away from her, closing his eyes. That simple gesture hurt Liao more than she cared to admit. She hardened her features, her lips a thin line on her face.
“I have things to do, preparations to make.” Liao strained to keep her tone even. “Thank you for visiting.”
Her mother shot her a silent look that said, “I’m sorry.”
Liao held her gaze for a moment and then politely ushered them out.
Inside the Changzheng 6D
Jiuquan Satellite Launch Centre
Hours later
With her parents' visit taken care of, the rest of the preparations went smoothly. Liao went through the same safety and procedure briefing she’d endured dozens of times. When it was all done, she and the rest of the passengers were strapped into their capsule, and the countdown timer ticked down.
“六, 五, 四, 三, 二, 一…”
The rocket shook with a shudder, starting as a gentle rumble then violently peaking as the craft broke free of its moorings and began its surprisingly slow ascent into the sky. Firmly locked into her seat, Liao could see nothing but a glimpse of the seemingly immobile blue sky through a tiny porthole. If it were not for the incredible feeling of acceleration and the shaking of everything, she would have sworn they were still on the launch pad.
The bulky, heavy suit she wore was hot and restrictive, but all thoughts of discomfort were banished from her mind as the craft rocketed to the heavens on a giant column of smoke and flame.
Soon and quite suddenly, the blue sky out the porthole dimmed and became almost a dull grey colour. Gravity inside the compartment felt almost three times as strong as normal due to their rapid ascent. Liao felt the crushing weight of her own arms pinned against the restraints of her seat, unable to move.
Within moments, the grey gave way to an inky, lightless void, and Liao felt another shudder as the last of the multistage rocket broke away, leaving the crew module drifting through the nothingness of low Earth orbit.
She also felt her stomach lurch. As part of her training, she had experienced “zero g” a number of times in free fall, each accompanied by a prolonged bout of vomiting. She hoped—prayed—that this time would be different. She summoned a mental image of her father’s disapproving frown to try to keep her dumplings in her stomach.
Awkwardly unclasping her restraint, Liao began to climb out of her seat but was shocked when she began to float quite helplessly up to the roof. Fighting down another wave of nausea, she grabbed one of the many handles and held on. After a moment, the queasiness abated, but she still felt as though she were only moments away from losing her breakfast.
“那里是你没事吧?” came a question from one of the other passengers, in the Henan dialect.
“I’m fine.” She closed her eyes a moment and tried to keep her composure. “But English only, please.”
Surprisingly, the officer answered her in clipped but very clearly articulated English. His tone was formal but polite. “Of course. You must be Captain Liao.” He floated a little closer to her. “I’ve heard you insist on the TFR’s English-only rule at all times, even with your family.”
“That’s me, yes, and I do insist on it. My ability to speak English saved my life. I’d like to think that was a sign… of sorts.”
Upside down, the man extended his hand in a gesture that was far too awkward for Liao to take immediately. “Lieutenant Commander Gaulung Sheng. I’m your first officer.”
Liao was surprised at how young the man looked. He couldn’t have been a day over thirty, but he was her XO? Very surprising. Liao did her best to shake his hand with their positions reversed.
“Your first time in microgravity, Captain?” he asked, seeming completely at ease with their situation, in stark contrast to Liao, who had a dozen tiny leprechauns tap-dancing on her stomach lining.
“First time outside of training,” she answered, nodding her head. Nodding turned out to be a bad idea. Another wave of nausea hit her, and she tried her best to keep it all down. “I didn’t realise it would be so fucking… ugh.”
Sheng seemed sympathetic to her distress. “I threw up on my first time,” he admitted, casually handing her a white paper bag opened at one end. “It’s entirely natural. People think going into space is this wonderful, beautiful thing, but it’s actually quite uncomfortable. They put you in these suits, and then they strap your arse to a giant rocket and blast you off at supersonic speeds. And you know, practically everyone pukes.”
Right on cue, she retched into the bag. Sheng averted his eyes, and when she was done, he took it, deposited it inside a clearly marked receptacle nearby, and promptly fetched a fresh one. In the background, she could hear others doing the same. She was slightly mollified by the realization that she was not alone.
“You’ll get used to it, sir,” he said, giving her a clap on the shoulder that sent her slowly spinning around like a pinwheel. Fortunately, her stomach was empty at this point, and to his credit, he reached out to stop her by grabbing her foot as it sailed past. Pulling himself up, he floated face-to-face with her, which proved to do wonders for her vertigo.
“First things first.” Her voice was muffled by the fresh bag around her mouth. “While naval tradition dictates that female officers are to be referred to as ‘sir,’ I believe that female officers can be feminine without compromising their authority. ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Captain’ will do just fine, thank you. Or ‘Commander’ if we’re not on board the ship.”
He nodded although his acceptance of the command seemed, to Liao, to be a little forced. “Very well, Commander.” He paused as he let her regain a little more of her composure. “Are you looking forward to the shakedown cruise?”
Risking another wave of distress, Liao nodded slightly. “I am, yes. I heard Captain Yavari took the TFR Tehran out for her maiden voyage a couple of months ago, completing it without incident.” She grinned wryly, and despite how pale she looked, her face held a confidence she hoped Sheng would find inspiring. “I hope to do better.”
“I’m sure you will, Commander, but…” He looked confused. “Regarding Captain Yavari, didn’t you hear what happened?”
Liao blinked a few times, genuinely surprised. Had something gone wrong with the Tehran’s systems? Was this something she needed to know about? It seemed she was always the last to hear these things.
“Hear what? All I’ve heard is that the voyage was without incident.”
He chuckled. “No, no. It went fine, but Yavari’s not in command of the Tehran, nor was he even there for her shakedown. During a routine physical, he was found to have pancreatic cancer, so they pulled him off the line. He’s commanding a desk now, on Earth, but he still checks in every now and then over the ship’s long-range radios, and he’s copied into all their reports.”
That was unfortunate. She knew Yavari by reputation only, but what she had heard was good. The man was a good commander and a solid officer.
“So who’s the Tehran’s CO now?” She switched handholds, feeling somewhat better. She dared to move the paper bag away from her face.
“Yavari’s former XO, Captain James Grégoire.”
Liao couldn’t help but allow a playful little smile to dance on her lips. “Ah, my old friend. The Iranians must not have liked that, an EU sycophant in charge of the ship named after their capitol.”
“They were positively livid, but Grégoire was the XO. He knew the ship, stem to stern. There was—and still is—nobody better.”
>
She paused as though determining just how polite it would be to ask. “How is the old bastard anyway? Not too lost without his captain?”
Sheng shrugged. “Last time I was at the lunar colony, he was doing just fine. A bit pissed that his captain had gone and gotten cancer on him. But hey, I honestly think he was glad to have the command, all other things aside. The shakedown cruise went well, so that’s a good start.”
She could understand that. “How long until we arrive? I’m anxious to see the Beijing for myself. I’ve studied the blueprints and 3D models and been through simulation after simulation, but nothing compares to the real thing.”
He smiled. “From the Earth to the Moon is not that far at all. Three days—just a quick jaunt out in space. Don’t worry; you’ll get a good view of the ship as we land.” Liao did sincerely hope so. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but a voice interrupted her.
“Liao? Melissa Liao?”
Liao knew that voice. Twisting around—not the wisest decision, she discovered—Liao’s disapproving eyes fell upon a torrent of floating red hair, bobbing about excitedly as though animated by a power of its own.
Summer Rowe. The geek from Chekhov’s Armoury in Sydney. If there was anyone Liao fervently hoped would have been left behind on Earth, it was this woman.
“Isn’t this awesome?”
The redhead’s voice was even more high pitched and nasal than before, and she quickly chuffed down a puff from her asthma inhaler. Rowe’s light-blue eyes darted all around the room, taking in every detail.
Liao tried to keep her voice even. “We are about six thousand kilometres from the Earth, on a special chartered flight for the People’s Navy. What are you doing here?”
Summer just grinned impishly. “Oh, you haven’t heard? I’ve been assigned to the Beijing as a consultant. I mean, half the ship’s technology was fucking built by us anyway, and nobody knows it better than I do.”
Liao squinted slightly. “Oh?” she remarked dryly, shooting Sheng an I-will-gut-you-for-allowing-this look out of the corner of her eye. “Nobody bothered to tell me, but I guess that’s okay. I’m only the captain and all.”
Rowe gave a laugh. “Aww… well, I was originally intended to ship out with the Tehran, but there was a scheduling conflict, and they couldn’t make it work in time.”
Liao shook her head in confusion. “Well, no matter. I guess we could use your voice on our shakedown cruise, not that I’m expecting any problems.”
Summer grasped one of the handles, curling up into a tight ball and spinning herself backwards. The redhead laughed giddily, and Liao felt queasy again. It was going to be a long trip.
Space, fifty thousand kilometres from the lunar surface
2037 A.D.
Three days after liftoff from Jiuquan
It had indeed been a long three days, but for Melissa Liao, the arrival was worth every insufferable moment with Summer. Sheng had been of invaluable assistance. But if she were honest, she hadn’t spoken to him very much. That, on reflection, she felt was quite a shame. He was going to be her XO, after all; they should be at least familiar with each other. Still, she found Grégoire to be much better company and couldn’t wait to meet him on the surface.
It would be very nice to chat with him in person. They had kept in touch after the attack on Sydney, his letters a distinct comfort to her as her hip mended. James had written every other day. Liao had worried that she would lose mobility and be discharged, but the Australian surgeons had done good work. Currently, aside from a seriously heavy-duty scar, it was as if she had never been injured at all.
Liao pressed her face against the round porthole. The view from this altitude was glorious. The dark side of the lunar surface filled the perspex, with only an edge of the black inkiness of space visible. She’d never before seen the moon in such detail, although it might have looked even more impressive than usual because it was so close, with no atmosphere in the way.
“Sure is a lot prettier from up here,” remarked Sheng from his own viewing port, voicing their shared thought.
Soon, the craft turned, descending towards the lunar surface. When it grew close, Liao could see the bright cluster of lights on the moon’s dark surface, the TFR Beijing. Competition was fierce for the tiny view out of the porthole, but Liao had the lion’s share. That was one of the privileges of rank.
Almost as though on cue, brilliant floodlights on the surface flicked on, illuminating the whole area. Every detail of the ship was immediately visible, and Liao eagerly drank in the view. Painted gunmetal grey, the vessel was long and thin, with dozens of large heat sinks protruding from its surface to dissipate as much heat as possible. It looked like a long, thin fish, dotted along the top with missile launch tubes.
To her it appeared graceful and elegant but also functional and dangerous. If the ship were a sword, it would be a rapier, long and thin but deceptively deadly.
As the tiny, cramped module and its forty passengers descended, the retro-thrusters fired, slowing the craft. “Gravity” of a sort began to assert itself, and she felt herself pushed ever so gently back into her seat.
All in all, a few seconds' glimpse of the full ship was all she had before the craft dipped below the rim of a vast crater, but it was enough. The vessel, bathed in thousands of bright lights, shone like a beacon of hope for all of humanity, and proudly emblazoned on its side was the insignia he would bear on all his journeys:
TFR N00003 - Beijing
Justice belongs to those who claim it.
“I wanted to name it Enterprise,” remarked Summer, her face pressed up against Liao’s in competition for the view.
Chapter III
Shakedown