Burning Eagle

by Navin Weeraratne

  Sun Tzu kicked back right into the eye, and beast let go and staggered back. Sun Tzu got to his hands and knees. “Even so, you have no chance. You will never breach the wall. I shall crush you out here – it is inevitable.”

  The Cyclops held out both arms and gestured a circle.

  “Your wall? Where is your wall? Look! It is all around you! I breached your great wall long ago, and rebuilt it around your own mind. You see nothing I do not permit! Outside the walls, my servants are slaughtering your people. We will crush you here, and then, we will go to your other worlds and finish what started when the galaxy was young.”

  “I will pluck that eye from your skull!”

  “I am already inside your skull.”

  Sun Tzu reached behind his back – and pulled out nothing. He stared at his empty hand and blinked.

  The Cyclops got down on one knee, and seized his jaw between his fingers. “Did you really think human, I would let you keep that?”

  Jahandar VI

  “Dude,” Khalid wrinkled his nose and snorted, “I can’t go you with you. That’s way too much perfume.”

  “What?” Saleh and his full-length mirrored reflection looked back over their shoulders. He spritzed his neck with another burst from the crystal bottle. His shirt sleeves were rolled up too casually, frat-boy style. Designer jeans hugged his butt – feminine sooner or later is the new masculine.

  “They can smell you outside in the street,” Khalid leaned back against the balcony railing. The city at night was his background. “This is why no one wants to party with Asians.”

  “But I’m Arab.”

  “Arabs are Asian. I know you hate that, but it’s true.”

  “I need more gold to look proper Arab.”

  “Nah, then you’d just look Puerto Rican. You’d need a garish car to complete the look.”

  “You both look terrible,” Jahandar closed the suite door behind him. He held up a bottle of clear liquid and some glasses. “Pre-booze, booze?”

  They cheered as he poured it neat.

  “It’s cool that you’re coming out with us Jahandar. Normally it’s just me and Khalid on post-death R&R. I get tired of his ugly face.”

  “And I get tired of his smell,” nodded the big Palestinian. He raised his glass.

  “Yeah well, thanks for taking me.”

  “Don’t you normally go home?” Khalid crushed a pellet of uppers and sprinkled it into his drink.

  “Yeah. Not this time.”

  “Trouble in paradise?” Saleh poured himself a second shot. “Hey no problem man, we don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. We got a whole liberated city outside to lose ourselves in tonight!”

  They toasted and drank.

  “So, what is there to do out here?” asked Jahandar. “I’ve never really poked around Villablanca.”

  “Not too much in the beginning, kind of a boring town, you know? Lot of Green Zone parties. Then Khalid got banned from our favorite bar for taking a piss in the pool.”

  “Hey! She dared me!”

  “By then the local scene picked up. Lots of places to eat. The street food is fantastic– anything grilled – just put it in your mouth.”

  “Amarillo Street is the place to be,” said Khalid. “It’s got the biggest parties and the best smoke ups. You can get anything in the Union there, even nanoactives.”

  “UEFers are dealing to them?”

  “No, they’re pretty smart people Jahandar,” Saleh touched up his mascara in the mirror. “They may bitch about Liberation, but they’re quite happy to use the Internet and copy-paste printers.”

  “You into gambling, Jahandar?” asked Khalid.

  “Can’t say that I am.”

  “Too bad, they’ve got a big scene. It’s tied up with their street fighting though, so that’s probably for the best.”

  “I’ve heard about the fights,” said Jahandar. “Sharpened teeth, metal spurs.”

  “They’ve even got people fighting too. It’s a big city and they can hide it.”

  “Anything – lighter?”

  “Booze,” Saleh decided between glittery belts, “So much booze. After we got rid of the old licensing laws, everyone started serving it – and making it. Grandmas will sell you rotgut and fresh cake right out of their homes.”

  “That’s not all they’ll sell you out of their homes,” said Khalid.

  “Oh?”

  “Jahandar, the Calamari kept these people poor,” said Saleh. “They’ve learned to do what they can to survive.”

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  “And so we won’t!” Saleh whirled round. “Well? What do you think?”

  “You look absolutely fabulous,” said Khalid, rolling his eyes. “Can we go now?”

  “Khalid?” Jahandar squeezed around some Quasi-punk teens buying uppers from a street dealer. Their mood-tattoos flared crimson as they glared over their shoulders. “Khalid?”

  Clashing dance music pounded out of twenty streetside bars and second floor clubs. Tracks mixed violently into each other, the loudest bass speakers winning. Amarillo Street was elbow-to-elbow shop houses, strobes pulsed through open doorways. Clouds of spiked smoke rose up from the packed street.

  “Khalid?” A mech pilot platoon, jackets draped on shoulders and party cups held high, staggered past, singing. Jahandar jostled past and looked down a small alley. A man and a woman necked against a wall, his hand up her skirt.

  “Khalid?”

  The man flicked him off without pausing. The woman started tugging at his belt.

  Jahandar went back into the street. Two men walked up, arm in arm, one in sparkling red pants.

  “Saleh,” he grabbed the soldier’s arm as he walked past. “Saleh!”

  Saleh looked up, his pupils wide, eyes glazed. The other man with him creased his perfect skin with a scowl.

  “Hey! Get your own fun, jerk!”

  “Saleh,” Jahandar snapped his fingers in the man’s face. “Khalid’s missing.”

  “It’s – okay. He’ll be – fine,” Saleh put his arm around Jahandar’s shoulders. “Go on. Lose – yourself. Have – fun!”

  Perfect skin yanked him away, and pulled the soldier across the street to a basement hourly hotel.

  “He’s right you know.”

  Jahandar turned around. Behind him was a Quasi-punk. Her boots were wrapped in barbed wire, her tight dark pants hung with pointless chains. The tight, white, tank top was framed by piercings and tattoos. They mood-sensitive ware turned green with interest.

  “Lose yourself. Or you’ll never get over what you’re dealing with.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been watching you.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “I know, but it’s because you stand out. No one comes here to remember, they come here to forget. You haven’t decided which to do yet, and it shows.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “You need to decide, right now. Come with me if you want to forget. I’ll give you something entirely different to remember. If you’re not sure about that, then you should go home before your friends notice. You’ll spoil their night if they think you’re not having fun.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “A nice place a couple of streets away. Madame Clare’s.”

  “My name is Jahandar.”

  “I’m Vidya.”

  The bed was huge, large enough for a lion he thought. He put his hand down on the silky sheets and felt the memory foam beneath.

  “It’s pretty big.”

  She smiled, sat down, and and pulled off her boots. Her legs seemed a mile long even without them.

  “More room, more girls,” she replied. “Or boys. Whatever you like. Shall I go get some friends?”

  Jahandar looked uncomfortable.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” she smiled a rich, toothy smile. “You don’t have to do anything. We can just talk,” she got up, went to the drinks cabinet, and poured two dr
inks. “A lot of men just want to talk.”

  “Oh?” he took the glass. Whatever it was, the glass was nicer.

  “Yeah,” she opened the windows. The city lights stretched before them. The pounding sounds of Amarillo Street were just two lanes away. “People like the anonymity. We hear all kinds of things.”

  “Like confessions?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly its more mundane things. People get lonely. Especially soldiers faraway from home,” she turned and looked back at him. “I can see you’re pretty lonely. It’s okay, you can tell me about her.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, silly,” she smiled again. “Hookers aren’t like dates. We don’t mind if you talk about the other woman. We expect it. Who is she? A girlfriend? Wife?”

  “Wife,” Jahandar sat down on the bed. “It’s been tough, being away from here. Tougher recently, she doesn’t understand what I do out here. I don’t understand what I do out here.”

  “Well, maybe that’s the start,” she sipped at her drink. “Forget about what you do, I doubt you have any say over that. What about why you came? That was your decision, yes?”

  “Yes. I chose to come out here. To take back our world, and to do relief work for the survivors,” he studied her for a reaction. “I know that may sound pretty hollow to you now, but that is how we felt when we all signed up.”

  “Let’s leave the politics at the door,” she said diplomatically. “And talk about you. Now you wanted to come for grand reasons, but you miss your wife. Tell me about her.”

  His eyes glazed slightly.

  “Farida is wonderful. She’s an artist. She used to do photography – but that came to an end. Now she does sculpture. She’s the sweetest, toughest, no nonsense girl you ever met.”

  “No nonsense?”

  “I’m a simple guy.”

  “That’s quite alright. All guys are simple,” she winked. “But if she’s so special to you – and clearly she is - then why did you leave her?”

  “I didn’t leave her!”

  “Yes, yes you did. When you signed up, how long was your tour for?”

  “It was supposed to be just six months, but then things were more complicated and they needed us to extend – “

  “See? And how long is your tour now?”

  “Fifteen months.”

  “And are you going back home after that, or are you going to sign up for another tour?”

  “Well – I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think this can really go for that much longer. People like me, they won’t really have much scope for my skills and training after a while, so I would say – “

  “Are you seriously telling me that you plan on being here, till the war is over? For as long as it takes?”

  “Well, not till the war is over. Well, I guess- I hadn’t really thought about the war taking a long time.”

  “Well, let’s say it does,” she sat down on the other side of the bed. “Would you want to stay for the whole war?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I would. There are people counting on me, my unit is – “

  “I’m not interested in your excuses to yourself Jahandar, I’m interested in why you’re sad and lonely on a weekend liberty pass. You love your wife – but you’re happy to be here for a whole war. You realize both those can’t be true at the same time?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s not to understand? Look, you’re wife – you’ve gone off – indefinitely – leaving your wife!”

  “I haven’t left – “

  “But you have. And you’re miserable, because you love her, and you want to be back with her! That’s all this is. You don’t want to be in this war. It doesn’t seem like you ever truly did. Why are you here? Why are you really here?”

  Jahandar stared out the window. He looked down at his glass, but it was empty.

  “Because I want to keep her safe. I don’t what this -“ he motioned out the window, “to ever happen to her. I want to make sure she’s safe, and that’s why I’m here, fighting. For as long as it takes.”

  “There’s more this story I think.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did something happen? You can tell me to stop prying at any time.”

  “No, it’s alright. And yes, something happened. That I don’t want to talk about, but it’s why I’m here. It’s why I have to do whatever I can, to keep her safe.”

  She got up and refilled both their glasses.

  “You’re a very sweet man, Jahandar,” she sat beside him, “And I admire your commitment to her. But this is not making either of you happy. Maybe you can protect her, maybe you can’t. There are warships, drones, soldiers, Transcendent AIs – a lot of things protecting her. I don’t think whether you’re here or not, will make that much difference. However, none of things are going to protect your marriage. Only you can be a good husband, Jahandar. But first, you have to stop being a crap one.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You need to go back to you wife. You need to apologize to heaven and back for her, and she will hold this against you for the rest of your life. But you need to do the right thing and go back, and she’ll remember that you did.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “Oh but it is. Remember, I’m a hooker. You’re good with guns, I’m good with people. Just think about this conversation we’ve had, and everything will start to make more sense now.”

  He took another sip. They stared out the window. Someone had started letting off fireworks – red, blue, green.

  “So,” he turned and looked at her, “So this is what you do?”

  “Yeah,” she stood up and walked away from him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You do?”

  “And it’s a bad idea. You think you want to, but you don’t, or we would have by now. You’re just a little taken up with the idea, you’ll balk at the last moment.”

  “Oh,” he looked down.

  “Hey, look at it this way. You’re not adding cheating with a hooker to your list of problems in your marriage. That’ll be a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “A hundred and fifty? Wow. I guess I just got myself an expensive therapy session.”

  “Yes, but you got to stare at my legs. You can’t do that with your therapist.”

  Cullins VI

  It was, thought the disgraced officer, a rather nice cell.

  A wall screen played B&W movie classics: re-mastered and quite terrible. The bed was folded back up against the ceiling for more space. A tiny fridge sat on the dresser. Inside packets of epoxy and cool blue water chilled next to smuggled gin.

  Paint bottles no bigger than hors d’oeuvres covered the table. Retasked toilet paper sheets lay in stack of blotted colors. Plastic cups sat in a row, filled with witch-brew water. An upside down naval officer’s cap was home to a fistful of long-stemmed brushes. A proud jacket hung limp and forgotten over a chair.

  Cullins picked up the next winter ogre. Blue pants for this one. He applied Ice Blue straight and mixed in water after, right on the figure. That’s what palette cups were for, but palette cups were for sissies. The ogre glared back at him, with unpainted eyes. It’s peg teeth were a nice, rotten brown.

  Pants done, time to let it dry. He switched to a fine detail brush, its point sharp as a needle. A quick dip in a custom bottle of a thinned black wash. He held the ogre close, and gently, slowly –

  Metal screeched, and the cell door unlocked and swung open. A woman in full dress uniform stepped in, past a pair of Marine guards.

  “Captain Barnes,” Cullins put down his brush, “You have no idea how hard it is to paint eyes.”

  “I’m sorry Commodore. Did I surprise you?”

  He looked at the jagged racing stripe down the figure’s face. “Nothing twenty minutes of rework can’t fix. But hey, I’ve got time till the next hearing.”

  “Actually Sir, you don’t. That’s why I’m here. I’m stepping down as acting-commander of
the Washington and you are to resume command immediately. All charges have been dropped.”

  “What?” disbelief. “On who’s orders?”

  “Fleet Admiral Haisley.”

  “Haisley?” the prize-worthy miniatures are forgotten for the rest of the war. “Haisley is here?”

  “Newly-printed from Jupiter.”

  “When did we appoint a Fleet Admiral?”

  “Since Sun Tzu went offline, Sir. Happened two hours ago.”

  “Transcendents don’t go offline. What word from the Victorious?”

  “Sir, we lost contact with her and her entire battle group around the same time. We believe we’re under attack.”

  Brushes were tossed, the cap found its proper place.

  “Get all section heads to the briefing room,” he pulled on his jacket. “Where’s Diamond?”

  “The XO has not reported in since – “

  “Captain, find whatever whorehouse that bastard gene meat is shacked up in, and bring him aboard.”

  “More manly, than a Marine plugging a leaking nuclear reactor with his bubble gum!”

  The bass speakers pounded, pounded, pounded down into your guts.

  “More manly than the new head of the Provisional Government: hunting insurgents in her bikini!”

  Floodlight grade halogens running off bare wires hurt any eyes looking directly. Caged dancers in harem wear made out and tossed clothing to the mass below. Party lights swept like laser sights, painting holograms in the smoke.

  “More manly than an anti-terror drone showing up the groom at a tribal wedding!”

  The air stung: sweetened with sweat, pheromones, and spiked transbacco smoke. People smoked/shot up: it was Early Bird happy hour for chem and digi-drugs.

  “That’s right people,” said the giant figure in the center of the ring, arms thrown out wide, “it’s that special day of the week, the manliest way to start the weekend, it’s the Diamond Fight Night!”