The Requiem of Steel

by David Adams

  If Keller had told her that the gay love child of Abraham Lincoln and Winston Churchill had been flying the ship, she would have been less surprised. “James—I mean, Captain Grégoire—he… let Summer Rowe fly his ship?”

  “She’s a robot now,” Keller said, as though that explained everything.

  Liao stared.

  “Captain, we have to get out of here. Captain Grégoire, Commander Iraj, they’re waiting for you on your ship.” Her ship. The Beijing. It seemed like so long ago since she’d seen it…

  “Where’s the Broadsword?” Liao asked.

  “There isn’t one,” Keller said, walking towards the hole in the ceiling.

  Dazed, and probably still oxygen deprived, Liao followed her. The thick rope had a harness attached to it.

  “Hold tight.” Keller buckled a harness around Liao’s middle and attached it to the cable. “I have to get the others.”

  With a jerk, the rope was pulled up towards a wall of metal. Liao passed through several floors, the light above her getting brighter and brighter and the wall of metal getting closer and closer. With a surge of blinding light, Liao was pulled up unto the midday sun. Only then did she realise what she was looking at.

  The underside of the TFR Beijing, scarred and hastily repaired and then damaged again. Her ship was in the atmosphere of New Evarel, hovering over the detention block, humming faintly as the reactionless devices kept it aloft. Beside it, the TFR Knight and the TFR Rubens, two Toralii-built ships, flanked their much larger Human counterpart. An honour guard to her home. Below her, the detention block, and the city, shrank away. Explosives had blown dozens of holes in the roof, making the tall, narrow building look like Swiss cheese, a line descending into each hole. The cables lead up to the open missile tubes.

  Around her, the city was burning. Smoke poured from broken glass windows on buildings, alien architecture blown to rubble. Tall buildings had been laid low, blasted with missiles and railgun slugs.

  Liao was carried up towards the open, scorched mouth of the missile launch tube. She passed through a column of smoke—the acrid stuff made her cough return—then she was swallowed whole by the armoured underside of the ship.

  The hatchways sealed below her in the darkness. The wail of alarms, the howl of the wind, the crackle of fires—all noise was snuffed out. Liao stood in a metal tube that smelled of oil, metal, missile fuel, and Kest’s blood, crammed into a space designed to hold missiles, not people. But she was home.

  Seconds turned into minutes. Without a way to see, it was difficult to gauge exactly how long. Suddenly, hydraulics hissed. A crack of light appeared on the loading hatch of the missile tube, and the top hatch rose, letting light flood in. She squinted through the glare.

  “Hello?” asked a voice she had not heard in far, far too long. “Melissa, is that you? Hold on, we’ll get you out of there.”

  Captain James Grégoire.

  Liao scrambled out of the missile tube, her prosthetic whining as she pulled herself up and out onto her feet, eyes still adjusted to the ship’s internal light. She saw marines, in the uniform of the People’s Liberation Army Navy. So many marines. And one who was not.

  James. His uniform was pressed and ironed, three days of growth covered his face. He hid his obvious nervousness poorly, hands clasped behind his back, looking like a man about to both receive his nation’s highest honour then be shot. He was wearing a communications headset. He’d clearly come from Operations.

  He’d changed. His hair had gone grey around the edges, and his face was weathered, as though he’d aged ten years in the few short months she’d been gone. He looked worse than when she had sprung him from a Toralii prison.

  They stood there in silence, her prison garb covered in blood, hers and Kest’s, the last lingering traces of alien medicine winding through her veins. The ship rocked as something shook the outer hull. The faint noise of air moving past the hull quietened.

  When James had been rescued from Cenar, Liao had run to him, grabbing him and kissing him right there in the middle of the Operations Room. Such a breach of protocol had been bought up at her court martial… and other things.

  “Permission to come aboard,” Liao asked, straightening her back slightly. “Captain.” Protocol.

  “Not my ship,” James said. “Technically… we should all be asking you.”

  The beginnings of a smile played over her mouth. “What—” Her voice cracked. “What took you so long?”

  James smiled back, his mouth a half-moon on his face, and she knew everything was going to be okay.

  Another tremor through the length of the ship stole away such fanciful notions.

  “Sitrep?” she asked.

  James didn’t answer right away. He sort of stood there, awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do. Liao knew what to do. Whatever semblance of her composition melted away. She stepped up to him and put her hand, her real hand, on his side. “I missed you.”

  His professionalism melted. “I missed you, too.”

  The ship shook, and the faint wail of some kind of alarm reached her ears. The moment ended.

  “Well”—James, turned towards the door—“we’re retrieving the last of the prisoners, and then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  “Sounds good,” Liao said, falling into step beside him. Surrounded by marines, the two of them walked towards Operations. She considered asking about their tactical situation, what had happened with the Tehran and the Madrid, where the Washington was, or any number of relevant questions. The question she really wanted to ask, though, lingered at her lips until she could not force it down anymore. “Where is Allison? How is she?”

  James’s smile seemed to somehow get wider. “At three a.m. Velsharn time? I hope she’s asleep. Or she’s getting a paddling. Olivia’s taken great care of her; don’t worry. You’ll get to see her again. And Sunkret. And Decker-Sheng, too, if you want, along with all the prisoners who got away in the first wave.”

  The Beijing rocked again. With a dull roar, weapons fire exploded outside. It seemed insane to her, to be discussing their parental responsibilities as a two-hundred-thousand-tonne warship ascended through the atmosphere of an alien world, where she had just been plucked off the surface through the missile launch tubes. But insanity was her life.

  “When can I see Allison?” The others she cared about, but her daughter was her first priority. “I want—”

  “I know,” James said, his words punctuated by another dull explosion. “She’s waiting for you on the other side. Soon as we get out of here, we’ll catch a Falcon down to the surface, and you’ll see her. Don’t worry…” He touched the headset.

  “What’s our ETA to the nearest Lagrange point?” Liao asked.

  “One hour,” James said. Something hardened in his tone; his words were a little more clipped than they had been seconds before. “But… easier said than done.”

  The Toralii would never let her go without a fight. Especially not after what her people had done to New Evarel. “What’s wrong?”

  James walked a little faster, turning the corner that lead towards Operations. “The remnants of the Toralii fleet are here.”

  CHAPTER XII

  Atonement

  *****

  Operations

  TFR Beijing

  LIAO AND JAMES POWERWALKED FROM the ventral missile battery to the armoured core of the ship, the Operations centre. After spending so many months in and out of various detention centres, stepping into her workplace was like walking into her childhood home.

  A childhood home that was abuzz with activity.

  “Attention on deck,” someone announced.

  All eyes turned on her. Everyone seemed to pause what they were doing, despite the beeping of machines and the occasional dull rumble of weapons fire. She knew she was out of uniform and still had blood on her. So many familiar faces…

  Saara, the golden-eyed Toralii woman whom she considered almost a second daughter. Her face lit up like
a thousand stars.

  Commander Iraj had become a commanding officer in his own right, though he’d been her comrade through so many battles. He had the scars to prove it, although they had faded some since she’d last laid eyes on him.

  Lieutenant Jiang wore lieutenant commander’s insignia now. Someone had to be the new XO. Liao was glad Jiang had stepped up. She could think of no one else who would do a better job. She looked so tired. Was Jiang always that tired?

  Captain de Lugo stood quietly near the back of the room, looking dour, but he managed a smile when their eyes met. How he could be so calm with his ship apparently gone, she wouldn’t know.

  “Captain, another ship has jumped into the system,” said their new radar operator. She didn’t recognise him, although he wore lieutenant’s stripes. “Another cruiser. That makes eight of them, all heavily damaged. More of the fleet must have survived than we thought.”

  “Roger,” Liao said, by instinct.

  “Roger Lieutenant Cole,” Iraj said at almost the same time.

  Liao bit the inside of her cheek. Of course the lieutenant was talking to him. Not her. Of course.

  A brief moment of confusion reigned, then Liao pointed to Kamal. “He’s in charge,” she said, symbolically taking a step back. “I’m not even in uniform.”

  Iraj’s eyes found hers. Instantly, a warm smile spread across the man’s face. “Thank you, Captain Liao, and welcome back. We weren’t sure if we had you.”

  She felt distinctly out of place, but it was very good to see him. To see the ship. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

  The Beijing shuddered. The deck plating beneath her feet vibrated faintly, and suddenly, the spell was broken. Everyone went back to work.

  “ETA on the jump point?” Jiang asked. Operations felt crowded. Too many senior staff for one ship.

  “Fifty-two minutes,” Cole said.

  Good.

  “We’re accelerating around New Evarel,” Jiang said. “Interposing the planet between us and that ball of death over there.” Standard avoidance tactic. Block the line of fire using the planet. “Cole, signal the Washington. Patch in the Rubens and the Knight. Have all our ships coordinate with us, keeping pace. I want us to escape together.”

  Cole spoke into his microphone for a moment then twisted around in his chair, looking at Iraj. “Washington reports that they are falling into formation directly behind us. The Knight is off our port, and the Rubens, starboard. All systems are go.”

  “Good.” Iraj paced back and forth in the middle of Operations, at the commander’s console where she usually stood. “Make sure we don’t get too close to them. Coordinate with them if we can.”

  James stepped next to her, and she felt his arm around her shoulder. “Hey.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You doing okay?”

  “Sorry.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I just feel like I should be helping. Doing something.”

  He squeezed her gently. The comforting feeling subdued the slight burn from her wounds. “I know, but right now, you’re my primary focus here. You just got out of some Toralii hellhole, and while this is your ship… this isn’t your time, Melissa. Not here. Not now. You’ll get your chance.”

  It was true. It was all true. She had wanted to get out of Toralii custody so long, she thought she could just slip right back into command, but what she’d said to Yarri was true—the ship was eternal. The chain of command had survived, and the new Operations team were functioning just fine.

  So why did they need her after all? Why had they risked so much for so little?

  “I know.” She leaned against him to steady herself. “It’s just…”

  “I felt the same way,” James said. “When I got back from Cenar. It’s okay to feel out of place. You’ll be right back into the swing of it; no worries. You’ll be back in command in no time.”

  Another question had been gnawing at her for some time. “James… what happened to the Tehran? To de Lugo’s ship?”

  James seemed positively delighted. “We had Rowe control them. With a combination of the Telvan fleet, and some Kel-Voran who were spoiling for a fight, we lured them into a trap in the Kor’Vakkar system. These are their elites, the fleet tasked with defending New Evarel itself. Normally, they wouldn’t step outside of the system for hell or high water, but… we knew that if we presented a target of sufficient opportunity, they just might leave their posts and come after us.”

  “So,” Liao asked, dread growing in her gut, “the Tehran and the Madrid… you sacrificed them for me? For the handful of prisoners held by the Alliance?”

  “We can always make more ships,” James said. “Crew for them, on the other hand…”

  Two. Two of the Pillars of the Earth, including one that had been with them all since the beginning, sacrificed like pawns on a chessboard. They had gone to such effort to keep them… the protectors of humanity. Gone.

  “Oh, God… James. No, James…”

  He smiled at her, shaking his head. “No, this is a good thing. It is. We broke Toralii strength in this whole quadrant; the fleet will be all over the place, fighting back the resurgent Kel-Voran, defending their institutions from Toralii pirates, and in general trying to get their shit together. We bought a generation’s peace.”

  It wasn’t true. The Toralii wanted her, wanted her to suffer—this would only drive their fury. She wasn’t ever going to get away. Not really.

  It wasn’t good.

  It wasn’t right.

  “So,” James asked, a playful glibness in his voice, “how was prison?”

  How could she answer that? “It wasn’t my first rodeo, but it was my toughest ride. I’m glad I’m out; I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted in there.” Her gut hurt, and the hubbub of the Operations room cemented her feeling. She didn’t feel like chatting and raised her voice slightly, looking at Iraj. “How far to the jump point, Commander?”

  “Forty-eight minutes,” Iraj said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here.”

  The better part of an hour. What was burning in her head was a much more important, relevant question.

  Did she deserve it?

  The minutes ticked away. Liao stood in silence, leaning up against James as the Operations crew worked. The room occasionally shook with weapons impacts; yet, somehow, the hull held. The Beijing was a stronger boy than she remembered. Maybe they had upgraded him; grafted Toralii technology to him, given him strength… the Beijing was the big boy of the fleet.

  The quiet moments made her nervous. Everyone was looking at her again—at the person they had risked so much, bled so much, to retrieve.

  Lieutenant Cole’s voice broke Liao out of her thoughts. “Vampire, vampire, vampire,” he said, his tone charged with energy. An alarm accompanied his words. “Incoming ship-killer missile. Launched detected from the surface. It’s coming up fast.”

  Suddenly, the attention of the whole Operations crew turned, thankfully, away from her.

  “Confirmed,” said their tactical officer, a dark-skinned Persian woman. Who were all the fresh faces? Where did they come from? “Tracking!”

  “A ship-killer missile?” Iraj clearly shared her confusion. They had never seen anything like that—the Toralii preferred directed plasma, along with their worldshatter devices. “How do we know that it’s not a strike craft?”

  “It’s moving way too fast,” Cole said. “It’s coming up from the surface at Mach 10. Too slow to be plasma, too fast to have a living thing in it. That thing is glowing white hot.”

  She managed a glance at the radar screen, over Jiang’s shoulder. She could see it as clear as day: a white streak screaming up from the planet’s surface, heading towards… not the Beijing or the Washington. The missile was sending out pulses of radar waves, but despite its active guidance, it appeared to be flying off towards some empty part of space.

  “Ensign Yosef, target that missile,” Jiang said. “Launch nukes, timed detonation. Blow that thing out of the sky.
Coordinate point defence with the Washington.”

  “Aye aye,” the Persian woman said. “Washington, Beijing, priority alert. Vampire detected. Prepare to intercept and kill with birds.”

  And then it was gone. The next radar pulse showed nothing.

  “Missile track lost,” Cole said, his tone disbelieving. “No radar signature. No heat. It’s just… gone. A launch failure? A glitch?”

  “Impossible,” Yosef said. “It must be a glitch in our system. Happened all the time on the Tehran. Reboot the system.”

  “Reboot will take two minutes,” Cole said. “There’s no way we can do that now.”

  “It’s the only way,” Yosef said.

  No. If they shut down their radars, they would be helpless.

  “No,” Iraj said, his words mirroring her thoughts. “We haven’t had radar failures on our ship. The Beijing is reliable. And so are the Toralii weapons… there’s no way something like that, something defending their homeworld, just fails.” His eyes met Liao’s briefly then darted back to his own console. “It was launched from a terrestrial battery on New Evarel. They wouldn’t have faulty missiles there. This is their best and brightest.” He turned to Saara. “Ensign, what the hell is that thing?”

  Saara was an Ensign now? Good. She certainly deserved it. Liao had no time to ponder it; Saara’s black fur puffed out slightly, and her pupils went wide.

  [“I… am not certain, but if forced to guess, it could be a vrak missile.”]

  “A what?” Iraj asked.

  [“An advanced long-ranged anti-ship missile.”] Saara’s eyes fell back to her console. She seemed rattled. [“They were new technology when I was in service with the Telvan. Complex and expensive, but not prone to failures. Its operation is… complex to explain. It uses gravitational lensing to mask its location. If I’m right, the missile will reappear momentarily.”]

  The alarm came back, wailing loudly.

  “Vampire, vampire, vampire” Cole said, tapping frantically at his keyboard. “The missile just reappeared in space. Distance, eight thousand kilometres and closing.”