by David Adams
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. These days, aside from a seriously heavy-duty scar, it was like 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 up the perspex, with only an edge of the black inkiness of space to be seen. She’d never seen the moon in such detail before, although it was understandable that it might look even more impressive than usual with it being so close and with no atmosphere in the way.
“Sure is a lot prettier from up here,” remarked Sheng from his own viewing port, voicing all of their thoughts.
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 that she knew was 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 a gunmetal grey, the vessel was long and thin, with dozens of large heat sinks protruding from its surface to try and dissipate as much heat as possible. It was like a long thin fish, dotted along the top with missile launch tubes.
To Liao 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 Liao 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 of his journeys.
TFR N00003 - Beijing
Justice belongs to those who claim it.
“I wanted to name it Enterprise,” remarked Rowe, her face pressed up against Liao’s in competition for the view.
Chapter III
“Shakedown”
*****
Lunar Drydock
Task Force Resolution Lunar Colony
The Moon
One day later
It was a great personal moment for Liao. She stood in the TFR Beijing’s umbilical, the long rubbery airtight passage connecting the hulking starship – her hulking starship – to the drydock. As it was, she was neither inside the great vessel, nor inside the spartan, cramped lunar colony. She stood in the void between moon and vessel.
The next step would take her there, would be her first step on the cool, gunmetal grey deck that lead directly onto deck six. She had studied the blueprints endlessly – she knew the ship’s every bolt, every weld, but she had never before this moment seen its inside with her own eyes.
“Captain on deck!”
A passing junior officer spotted Liao in her white naval uniform and Commander’s epaulette, coming swiftly to attention.
“As you were,” Liao offered, and then stepped forward. With a satisfying clink her booted foot hit the metal of the deck. With intense personal satisfaction she savoured the thought that she was now aboard her first command. And not just any old ship, one the entire world was watching with eager anticipation.
A great personal moment indeed.
But it passed, and Liao made her way into the Beijing’s interior. She made her way to her quarters on deck two, but was stopped in the road by a familiar face wearing civilian clothes.
“Hey, Melissa!”
Summer Rowe – her arms burdened with all manner of cables, devices and laptops – pushed her way through a group of chattering petty officers towards her. Liao scowled instantly at the Caucasian woman’s informality.
“Ahh, Summer Rowe. A word?”
Summer jostled her equipment, her bespectacled, red-headed visage poking out from beside two heavy looking books.
“Yeah, sure...”
Liao placed her hands on her hips, employing something she called her ‘Captain’s Voice’. “This is the Task Force Resolution’s vessel, the Beijing. I am his Captain and you are a guest upon it. While you are a civilian, and I do not expect you to follow military protocol, here and in the presence of my crew you will refer to me as Captain, Captain Liao, or ma’am. Am I in any way unclear?”
Rowe looked distinctly unhappy. “You’re not serious…”
“Deadly. This vessel is a warship, Rowe, not a pleasure cruise – and I will have discipline from you on this matter if you want to stay on board.”
Frowning, the red-headed woman finally shrugged. “Fine,” a pause, then, “...Captain.”
Nodding, Liao motioned for her to continue on her way, but then changed her mind. “Actually, Rowe, if you could – you are here as a technical advisor. I require your advice. Walk with me.”
“But my equipment…”
“…will be securely stored away by this fine gentleman. Crewman?” Liao beckoned to a junior enlisted crewman, waving him over. “Take this equipment and stow it in Rowe’s quarters.”
“是的，船长.”
Liao frowned again. “English only, crewman. You know the rules.”
“My apologies, Captain. It won’t happen again.”
She waved for him to continue, nodding to Rowe as she unloaded her (apparently quite heavy) load onto the unfortunate man. Together, the two women walked towards the stern of the vessel.
“Let’s talk about the ship first. Tell me what you know.”
Rowe immediately began to speak in a rapid-fire manner, her tone almost frenzied as she spoke.
“Well, she’s what they call a Triumph class assault cruiser. 200,000 tonnes, half a kilometre long.”
Liao nodded. They turned a corner – the crew moved out of their way as they strode aft, despite the cramped corridors. “Why 200,000 tonnes?”
“That’s all the jump drive can safely handle. Also, any bigger and it wouldn’t be able to lift off.”
Liao mused coyly to herself, amused by how her term ‘jump drive’ had reached the public lexicon, even amongst technically minded holdouts such as Rowe. It had taken only a few months after Liao coined it for the term to become the almost universally accepted term for the device.
“Good, continue.”
“Well, she’s made of a variety of materials, almost all of them mined here on the moon. Her outer hull is comprised of interlocking plates of the indestructium I showed you back in Sydney. When we need to, we pass an electric charge through it to induce rigidity – makes the damn stuff almost impossible to destroy and very radiation resistant... takes a lot of juice though. Fortunately, the ship’s nuclear powered.”
Click. Click. Click.
“Pen. Away. Now.”
Giving a dramatic sigh, Rowe stuck the pen into her breast pocket.
“...Anyway. So the hull is plated indestructium. The superstructure is an aluminium-titanium-steel alloy, with various composite components scattered all around her. Artificial gravity and inertial dampeners are both based on a modified Reactionless drive, eight nuclear reactors, an interesting weapons suite, a complete Reactionless drive for sub-light motion and, of course, a jump drive.”
Liao’s heels clicked as she walked down the corridor. “Artificial gravity kicks in when?” She paused to sign a piece of paper which was thrust at her by a petty officer, then motioned for Rowe to continue.
“When we’re further away from the moon’s gravity well and the artificial gravity of the colony itself. Othe
rwise... bad stuff happens.”
“Good. Well, you’re right so far,” Liao observed, the two of them passing various marines who stood to attention, “Tell me about the weapons suite.”
Rowe laughed. “A true military gal. Right, well, the ship’s primary weapons are her nuke suites. Ten launch tubes, all arranged on the vessel’s uppermost deck. They can also be loaded and fired via the railguns, but not nearly as fast as the ferrous projectiles that are built for that. It’s also hilariously unsafe.”
“Okay, railguns. What can you tell me about the railguns?”
Summer grinned an impish grin. “Well, they’re twin magnetic accelerators running the length of the ship. At maximum power, each fires a six kilo projectile at about a tenth of the speed of light. Great for punching holes in whatever you want at an entirely unfathomable distance, but it doesn’t do that much damage compared to the nukes. Of course, the nukes are much shorter range and much slower, so...”
“...so they’re better if used up close.”
Summer nodded. The two of them climbed up the ladder to a deck above. Liao held open the hatch as Summer clambered through, then she set it down with a dull clank.
“What about the jump drive?” asked Liao, straightening her back and resuming walking.
Summer laughed. “Strictly – and I mean strictly – offline. Our shakedown cruise is cruising along at sub-light only. Even if we get to a Lagrangian point, we don’t want them to know that we’ve kept up development on the thing.”
Liao let just the tiniest smile grace her lips, nodding. “Good.” There was a brief pause, as though to give gravity to her next statement.
“You know your stuff... glad to see you’re worth keeping around after all. Welcome to the crew, Summer. Any questions?”
Summer gave a fierce grin, motioning to the sidearm on Liao’s belt. “Do I get a gun too?”
It was such an inane question that Liao really didn’t know how to respond to it at first. Finally, she just nodded. “I see no problem with civilians being issued sidearms while they’re aboard, if the situation warrants it.” She paused, staring at the red-head. “...Why?”
Rowe’s grin was a mile wide. “Because, you know, XKCD. They had this comic where they rated ‘potential action movie one-liners from most-probable to least-probable. And when we find the Demons, I’m dying to pull out my gun and just go, ‘Bangarang, motherfucker,’ like, from Peter Pan, the original novel. …Seriously, that’d be so awesome.”
Liao stared, seriously reconsidering her choice to arm the strange woman. “That’s... that’s something else, Summer. Good luck with that.”
Summer wandered off and Liao, putting Rowe’s strangeness out of her mind, busied herself with dozens of endless tasks as befitted the Captain of such a titanic vessel. It wasn’t until the clock (synced to Earth time) was well past midnight that she finally visited her quarters for the first time. The Beijing’s lodgings, even for the Captain, were spartan but sufficient for her needs.
Liao required little, but it was nice to sleep in her own bed.
In the morning, Liao rose to the sound of the buzzer outside her quarters. Throwing on a thick green bathrobe, the woman made her way to the hatchway. Twisting the seal and opening the door, she was greeted by a welcomed sight – James Grégoire, looking nearly a decade older since their adventures in Sydney, but still with the same warm smile on his dark-skinned face.
“Look who decided to drop by,” she quipped, opening the door a little wider. Her smile matched his as she beckoned him to enter.
“I can wait for you to get dressed, if you like,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.
Liao just gave a cheeky grin. “I went through a co-ed boot camp, Captain... no need to be coy. I’m quite used to it all by now.”
The two entered her quarters. Liao watched as, with surprising agility and confidence, James fetched a pair of glasses (flipping them in the air as he did so), ice from the small fridge, and some scotch. The woman boggled. She had scotch?
It seemed as though she had not yet learned as much as she should have about the ship and its contents.
As though sensing her reaction, James just gave a light-hearted chuckle. “Apologies for seeming as though I know your ship better than you do, but the layout is completely identical to the Tehran,” he remarked, pouring her a glass. “Even comes fitted with the same booze.”
“Now we’re talking,” grinned Liao, taking her glass with both hands. There was a brief silence as the two regarded each other. James’ dark hand brought his glass to his lips, breaking the spell.
“How do you find the ship?” he asked, the ice in his glass clinking as he drank.
Liao swirled the glass of bronze liquid in her hand, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s a fine command. Far more advanced than any surface vessel... Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it, much less been in command of it. There’s... there’s a lot to learn, and there’s so much...” her voice trailed off.
James inclined his head curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“...Nothing.”
Grégoire tilted his head thoughtfully at Liao’s disposition. “You have some doubt about his capability? His crew?”
Liao shook her head vigorously. “No.”
“Then what? In Sheng?”
Liao paused a moment, thinking about her answer. “I suppose,” she admitted, sipping from her glass. “He’s young and unproven, but aren’t we all... except you old man.” A playful wink. “And, well, I know that he has high ambitions... the problem is, all three Pillars of the Earth have Captains now. How long does he plan to wait for the Task Force to build more? Does he honestly think he can earn his own command working under me?”
“I don’t know,” James answered, “but I’ve also heard that... heard he’s ambitious. I know he lost a lot of family in Beijing. Maybe he’ll be out for revenge... and that’s a good motivator as long as it doesn’t cloud your judgement. On the other hand, maybe he’ll fear the aliens a little too much. He does insist on calling them demons, after all. I suppose time will tell on that front.”
“I suppose it will.” A pause. “You don’t think they’re demons?” Liao’s question was laced with curiosity.
“Well... what do you think they are?”
Liao shrugged. “I think that ordinary men can be demons so I don’t see why these aliens can’t be. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t believe in the supernatural, James, but... certain acts of depravity can never be forgiven. If someone acts as a demon, then in my mind, tar them with the brush that fits. Why not call them demons if they’re so eager to earn that moniker?”
“Melissa...” James smiled at her, lifting his glass to her as a toast. “I happen to agree with you, but hear me out. Our ancestors – humanity’s ancestors – named anyone with birth defects demons. They named the gibbering mad folk demons, or people with epilepsy or narcolepsy, people with mental illnesses that caused them to hear voices were thought to be possessed... the causes for all these things were eventually found, in time, and now we don’t blame these perfectly valid medical explanations on ‘demons’. We no longer fear and hate the unknown, revelling in our ignorance... Instead, we find the unknown to be a curiously enthralling place, something that encourages us to better ourselves.”
James knocked back a little more scotch, smiling still. “So it’s not that I disagree with your assessment, but just that I detest the label. It is a rubber stamp for that which we do not understand... and I believe that all things have a reason behind them.”
“Makes sense.”
The man leaned forward a little, growing a little serious. “Do you doubt yourself?”
Liao couldn’t answer that question right away. She stared into her drink, considering her response. When it came, it was measured and even.
“I know I can command this vessel,” she said, sipping at her drink. The burn on her throat helped relax her. “...and I will give this endeavour my all. But so much rests on what we do here...
rests on our actions… rests on sheer, blind, dumb luck. We're going out into space with basically no idea what we're about to face... if anything. And if the Demons – aliens – whatever, come... and we fail... if we fail here, then…”
“…then don’t fail.”
Liao gave a cocked, uneven grin. “That simple, hey?”
*****
Operations
TFR Beijing
Lunar Drydock
The next few weeks passed faster than Liao cared to think about. She was able to spend a surprising amount of time with James, and his presence was of great assistance as the ship underwent its final preparations. Liao and James enjoyed an easy, close friendship and she found the Belgian man’s company to be an essential part of unwinding from the stresses of leadership.
But now, finally, the great day was upon them.
Liao sat in her Captain’s chair in the starship’s Operations room, a heavily built structure packed with computers. The area was sometimes known simply as “Ops”. Buried deep within the vessel’s forward section and running along the ship’s centre axis, it was the most armoured and protected of all the sections, along with the jump drive, nuclear reactors, atmospheric processors, and weapons and ammunition storage. Sheng stood next to her as she took her seat.
A fresh-faced Junior Lieutenant (the Chinese equivalent of an Ensign) handed Sheng a printed message. Her XO read it, then nodded to Melissa. Sheng’s voice was charged with excitement as he spoke. “Final tests complete, Captain. All sections report alert status. Systems are green across the board.”
This was the signal – it was time for launch. From its berth on the lunar surface, the crew had conducted every conceivable test they could... Now, the only way they could stress the ship further was to take him out for a spin.