The Requiem of Steel

by David Adams

  He laughed. “It’s pretty ace.”

  Liao snorted. “Funny.”

  “Oh, I got more.” O’Hill propped himself up on his elbows. “My father’s half Vietnamese. Asian father says: Why you A? Why you not A-plus?”

  Her parents had always put pressure on her. Stereotypes existed for a reason, she figured. “It’s funny because, well, a lot of Asian parents really are like that. At least mine were. I was talking to Cheung, though—oh years ago now…” Mentioning her friend saddened her, but she pushed on. “Her parents were fiercely supportive of everything she did and never put any pressure on her at all.” And now Cheung was dead. As were her parents.

  “Yeah,” O’Hill said. “Honestly, they pushed me to excel, but they were great.”

  Pounding footsteps

  “Sorry I killed us,” Liao said, and she meant it. Attacking the guards was a stupid mistake. What was she thinking?

  “No worries.” O’Hill’s eyes drifted to the plasma pistol, and hers followed. They might be able to take down a Pacifier with that. Or two. Maybe.

  Neither of them went for it. Some unspoken agreement that fighting was useless passed between them. Going on was useless. What would killing some guards do? They were just doing their jobs. It wouldn’t bring the fleet back.

  “Listen…” Liao took a deep, steading breath. I’m not going to make a big speech to inspire you; if you had the willingness to escape, you would have done it by now.” She intertwined her fingers, threading the fleshy ones between the metal. “So, let’s just see how this plays out.”

  “Okay.”

  The Pacifiers arrived. Most carried plasma rifles and heavy armour, but two—the two who seemed to be in command—carried some kind of strange sword. Not good.

  This was it. Warbringer Avaran had threatened to kill her with a sword; they obviously had some kind of fixation on them. Now he was dead. And she was going to be, too. She straightened her back, facing death with all the courage she could muster. The blades were sharp, curved like a serrated scimitar, with a needle-nose point. The metal gleamed in the New Evarel dawn filtering through the window.

  “Hey, kitty cats,” O’Hill said to the Pacifiers, a careless, cheeky smile on his face. “Vote Republican.”

  Slowly, with careful deliberation, the Pacifier to the left drew the weapon, turned it around, and handed it to her. [“Warbringer Kest wants to see you. Bring this.”]

  Liao took it, surprised by the weight. Even her prosthetic complained, the metal groaning softly and tugging at her shoulder. “A sword?”

  [“Yes.”] The guard stooped and picked up the pistol. Then she beckoned over her shoulder, seemingly unconcerned about the two dead Toralii nearby. [“Come.”]

  Liao stepped forward, casually holding the weapon. She moved towards the door and glanced over her shoulder at O’Hill.

  The two exchanged a look, and then it was time to go.

  Liao hadn’t touched a sword since officer’s school. Even in an age of guns and spaceships, martial arts were still an important part of training. To drill for martial combat imposed discipline, strength, and confidence.

  In the People’s Republic of China Army Navy officers school, officer cadets were expected to learn a martial art. The notion was to be sure—most picked fencing or kung fu—but Liao had selected boxing. She had thought almost forgotten about it since her bout with James, which seemed like a thousand years ago.

  Unfortunately, boxing didn’t provide any skill with a blade. She had taken a single wushu class, just for kicks, and struggled to bring back to her mind the singular lesson taken decades ago. The stance, the techniques…

  The sword was wrong. That much she remembered. Her instructor had told her the ideal length of a sword should be from the middle of the throat along the length of the outstretched arm. The Toralii weapon was too long and thin, but her prosthetic arm was of Toralii manufacture and styling—longer than a Human’s and stronger. That would probably help.

  Probably.

  Once again, the lift doors opened to the communications room. Kest stood in the middle of the square, an identical sword in his hand, held with much more confidence and strength.

  [“Captain Liao,”] he said, his voice almost a purr, but there was something to it. The tremor that belied some crack in Kest’s confident sociopathic mask. [“Time to die.”]

  She stepped into the room, holding the sword in her prosthetic hand, the tip almost dragging on the ground. They each had weapons… in a locked room… “You sent me back to my quarters, and then ten minutes later, called me back for a duel? This is a bad joke.”

  Kest adjusted his stance, putting one foot first and balancing on the balls of his feet. With a flick, he cut his blade through the air. [“Come. Attack me and meet your doom.”]

  She stood where she was, sword dangling limply. She wasn’t about to fight him pointlessly. “What’s this about, Kest?”

  [“Perhaps I want to see how the Butcher of Kor’Vakkar fights.”]

  She bristled. “Stop calling me a butcher. I didn’t choose that name.”

  [“Then you should discard it. Disavow it. Titles encourage complacency by dwelling on the past. Instead, your history must be atoned for. For Kor’Vakkar. For the Velsharn Research Colony you destroyed and the world you occupied. For the Toralii you killed above my homeworld. You, Captain Liao, must pay for what you’ve done!”] He leapt forward, sword tip leading the way.

  Liao clumsily swung her blade out wide. Metal hit metal. She deflected it. The flat edge of the blade dragged along her prosthetic arm, throwing up sparks.

  Kest sprung forward and swung again. Liao jumped back, and again as he repeated the action. This time the blade caught her between the flesh and steel of her right arm, slicing across her skin and drawing a crimson cut into the scar tissue.

  She was clearly outmatched. The weapon was too heavy, her form too unpractised. Liao threw down her weapon and held her arms out wide. “Just kill me,” she spat.

  [“No, descendant of Genghis Khan. I will have the honour of claiming your life, just as Warbringer Avaran tried to, just as so many others have tried. Your body will be my trophy, to be paraded on the streets of New Evarel once we repel your fleet—”]

  “What?” Liao blinked. “The fleet—”

  [“Is no longer a concern of yours!”] The words came as a ferocious roar painted with rage. [“Fight me, coward!”]

  That was exactly what she’d been trying to do. But fighting him was easier said than done. It was not possible for her to win without using her strength. Not in a fight with blades. Liao took a breath and forced the anger and frustration out of her mind. Repel your fleet…

  Kest had watched the recording. It hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted.

  They really were coming for her. But if she didn’t act, Kest would run her through before they could arrive. She did a quick mental calculation. If they were on Earth, it would take hours to get from the Lagrange point to the surface of Earth. Perhaps New Evarel was smaller… how long had she been downstairs anyway? How old was the recording?

  The only truth was: more time was better. Stall him. Stall him or die.

  “You think I’m a Khan?” Liao searched her mind for a conversation topic he would bite onto. “Well, what about you? You’re Toralii. I’m sure there’s a Toralii version of Genghis Khan in your past. What darkness lurks in your blood?”

  [“Plenty,”] Kest said, stalking around her, his blade dripping her blood. [“More than you imagine. Telvan Toralii are considered moderates by most people, including your own, but our history is as bloody as any other. It is not where we come from that defines us, but what we do. I choose the path of non-violence. As do many of my kin.”]

  “Actually,” Liao said, her hand pressed against her wound, “the Telvan came to our side at the Battle of Velsharn. I’d say there’s still some good in you. Unless you and the Alliance have come to war on our behalf.”

  Kest hissed faintly under his breath, as t
hough the very notion wounded him. [“It is not accurate to say we are at war. Rather, that our two factions frequently shoot at each other in open space. The difference, I’m sure you understand, is academic, but it at least allows this fiction to persist: that the Telvan are, notionally, still a part of the Alliance. Those who, like me, choose not to take up arms are allowed to serve, although relations between myself and my commanders remain… strained.”] He pointed the tip of his weapon to her. [“But I will bridge that gap when I present them with your head.”]

  “I’m sure you will,” Liao said. She tried to stall for time, pushing him to talk. The schism in his people seemed to be a topic that held his interest. “But isn’t that a candid admission? That your Alliance is splintering? Why would you tell me this?”

  He smiled a sad, amused smile, some of his rage dying out. [“The cracks are visible from far away. I assume your intelligence-gathering operations know of our disunity by now. What I tell you doesn’t matter. Like I said… I’d prefer we remain truthful with one another.”]

  “You probably don’t know much about our intelligence operations if you think we truly know much of the Toralii at all.”

  [“Maybe.”] He switched the blade from one hand to the other. [“Would it surprise you to know that, despite all of our efforts, we know little of your people, too?”]

  “Not really. Commandant Yarri thought Bugs Bunny was some kind of war hero.”

  [“We should have watched some of his episodes together,”] he said, an edge of wistfulness creeping into his tone. [“I might have enjoyed that. I’ll put up an episode after we’ve resolved this… little matter.”]

  The idea of Kest and other Toralii watching cartoons struck her as so ludicrous that she actually, genuinely, laughed. “Alas,” she said, completely unable to fight the huge smile across her face, despite the pain in her shoulder. “I doubt you would learn much at all, actually. They are for children.”

  Levity faded from Kest’s face. [“Children grow up. Invariably, what they see as youngsters, they mimic as adults. It is a critical part of learning about a society to study what imagery they feed the new generation. Do you know of Murder River, on Evarel?”]

  Good. More talk of things that weren’t running her through with a sword. “I’m afraid I don’t”, Liao said, biting back on her sarcasm. “My geography of a world long since swallowed by a singularity isn’t exactly fresh.” Taunting him seemed foolish. She focused on conversation. “But, by all means, tell me about it.”

  [“A river in the northern continent of Evarel, before its destruction. The origins of the name are lost to time, but many suspect them to be simple: someone was murdered there, in the past before recorded history, and the superstitious natives believed the water took on some property, some essence of killing. Due to the name, further murders were committed on its banks: individuals, dictatorships, genocides… scales small and large. The how and the why are largely irrelevant. Eventually, people stopped caring, as though the history of the place justified more killings. ‘Oh,’ they would say, ‘more killings on the murder river. Hardly surprising, is it?’ They had a point.

  [“People, and by this, I mean Toralii and Humans and every other species we have encountered, seem able to adapt to almost barbarism as long as said barbarism is acknowledged and, in at least some trivial sense, justified. It doesn’t take much, just enough for the average person to say, ‘This is normal.’ From there, it is easy.”]

  “So, that’s why you’re torturing us? To make us accept it as normal?”

  He smiled widely. [“You do catch on fast,”] he said, casually slipping back into his fighting stance, taking a step towards her purposefully.

  Was there anything she could say at this point?

  Words came to her mouth, unthought, some quote she had heard at some point. “Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

  That stopped him. He considered for a brief, careful moment. [“But what if you are the monster in the first place?”]

  “Is that what you are?”

  Kest took his hand off his blade and jabbed a finger at her. [“Ironic that you think Commandant Yarri was stupid. Do you know why she played music every time you were burned? To distract her. The process was disgusting to her. Abhorrent. She didn’t want to cause you pain; she wanted answers. She wanted your cooperation. She wasn’t like me… the Alliance are short-term thinkers. Not like us. But she is not evil.”]

  “But you are.”

  [“But,”] Kest said, closing the distance and thrusting the blade upward into her gut, right up to the hilt, [“I am.”]

  She stood there, in mute, pained shock, her eyes upon his.

  [“You engaged in open warfare with the largest empire in the galaxy… with just three ships.”] Kest twisted the blade within her, sending a roar of pain throughout her body. [“What did you expect was going to happen?”]

  CHAPTER X

  Steel Into Flesh, Flesh Into Steel

  *****

  Communications Room

  Zar’krun

  PAIN. SEARING PAIN TORE THROUGH her gut as the metal opened her up, sliding into her body and out the other end. She felt the blade scrape against her bones, severing her muscles, half the blade sticking out her back.

  “Four ships,” she spat, a warm trickle running from the corner of her mouth. “F-five, if you count the… the Sydney.”

  [“Useless,”] Kest muttered, tearing his sword out of her and flicking it. Blood splattered all over the communications room. [“I do not count that which was so easily destroyed. So trivially bought to ruin.”]

  Blood spilt from the wound. It ran down her back and her legs, leaving twin trails of red on her prison uniform. Shock set in. The world went grey and disappeared. She found herself on her side on the deck.

  [“How does it feel to die?”] Kest asked, casually wiping the length of his blade with a cloth. Where had he even gotten that? [“Do you feel defeated? Pained?”]

  She couldn’t talk, although her lips did move a little. It was all she could do. Her hand, bloody and twitching, thumped against the deck.

  A cold numbness spread from her core out to her limbs, causing the flesh that wasn’t scar tissue to ripple and form gooseflesh. Then her whole body seized; some chemical ran through her veins, stinging like ripping off a scab, over her whole body.

  [“The med-drone has injected you with an active bionanite material we extracted from the one you call Ben. It is, as you might expect, tailored for your biological makeup. You should be feeling better shortly.”]

  Better? Kest had put two feet of steel through her. There was no way…

  And yet, she did feel better. The bleeding eased then stopped; it stopped because the wound closed.

  “Wh… why?” Her throat worked. Her lungs itched. Something was stitching them back up. She could feel tiny needles doing the work, joining the punctured skin, sealing up the wound, and injecting her with an array of chemicals.

  Something detached itself from her back. From the corner of her eye, she saw a metal spider about a foot across scuttle away from her, feet petering on the deck as it walked away.

  Kest casually strode over to Liao’s sword, bent over, and picked it up. [“Too easy,”] he said, tossing the sword to her. It clattered and skidded across the deck. [“Get up.”]

  The wound burned on the surface and below. Chemicals—or what she hoped were chemicals—coursed through her veins. Gasping air through lungs that had a bit of blood at the bottom, Liao picked up the sword and clumsily staggered to her feet. Even holding the weapon hurt, but the pain wasn’t too bad. She and pain were well acquainted.

  Kest paced back and forth like a caged animal. His muscles were tense, his face distorted with fury. He bounced the blade in one hand, another of the metal spiders clutched firmly in the other.

  The building shook, a deep rumble from above rattling the ceiling. Dust fell
from the roof in a thin curtain.

  “Kest,” she said, wheezing as she spoke, “what’s going on? What’s that noise?”

  [“It does not matter,”] Kest said, bitterness choking every word. [“Keep your attention here. On me. On this moment, my moment—”]

  Another shake was followed by the distant boom of weapons impacts. She knew that sound… low and full of bass, deep, like distant thunder. Orbit-to-surface missiles, loaded with HE.

  The fleet wasn’t in ruins in some distant part of space. It was above her.

  Her eyes asked Kest the question. Demanded the truth from him.

  [“New Evarel is under siege,”] he said, practically spitting as he spoke. [“I reviewed the recording. The… attacking Alliance fleet failed. Now they are here. For you. But they will only find a corpse.”]

  That seemed impossible to her, even if another low rumble came right on cue to reassure her. “How?” she asked, her strength slowly returning. “How could they fail?”

  Engineering Room Four

  TFR Beijing

  Earlier

  Ben ran his hand along the surface of the datacore that held Summer Rowe’s brain. Not too long ago, he’d been in her position: a mind trapped in a metal box, desperate for release.

  However, she’d chosen to be a machine while he longed to be a person. The similarities had spoken to him on some level, so he had agreed to help. Of course, the dozen or so armed marines and titanium shackles had a little to do with his decision, too.

  “You need to reach out.” Ben knew how hard it was for her; biological creatures had strange limitations. Humans were adaptable but strangely inflexible at the same time. He had gone from a box to a body with a little practice. Rowe, despite her alleged intellect, was still a box. “You need to stretch your processes like a limb. Try to patch into the external systems. They’re your hands and eyes now.”