by David Adams
“The Prophet alayhi s-salām mounted the creature, and together they flew to Jerusalem. This is the part of the story referred to as Al Isra.
“After dismounting, the Prophet alayhi s-salām entered Al-Aqsa mosque and prayed.
“Then the Burak took him up to the heavens, flying out of the solar system and into the heavens. They made it all the way to the gates of the lowest heaven. Jibreel alayhi s-salām knocked on the gates, took Mohammad alayhi s-salām in, and took him to Adam, the first Human. “This is your father,” said Jibreel. “Greet him.” So he said, ‘As-salamu alaykum.’ Peace be upon you.
“This is a fond story for me. So much of the Koran, the Christian Bible, and the Jewish Torah is full of death and misery and suffering—misaimed morals, bigotry, hatred, violence, deception… but not this. Not this. This part is pure. One of my favourite parts. I can only imagine the joy that Mohammad must have felt as he gazed upon Adam and spoke to him amongst the heavens. Imagine meeting Adam, in heaven, for the first time.
“They must have wished to say so much. How long could they spend there, Adam and Adam’s most favourite son? An eternity, to be sure, but this was just the prelude. The beginning.
“Mohammad had someone else to speak to as well. Jibreel carried Mohammad alayhi s-salām up to the gates of the second heaven. Therein, Mohammad alayhi s-salām met Jesus alayhi s-salām and John alayhi s-salām, or John the Baptist. They exchanged greetings, as cousins, and moved to the third heaven. There they met Joseph. On to the fourth, where he met Aaron, brother of Moses. And in the sixth, Moses himself.
“In the seventh heaven, Mohammad met God himself. Allah alayhi s-salām also took the Prophet alayhi s-salām to Hell, where visions of the future were revealed to him. He saw people receiving different punishments for different sins.
“The Prophet alayhi s-salām then returned home, finding his bed still warm.”
“Spooky,” said Rowe.
“Interesting.” Liao digested the story. Kamal was an amazing storyteller, his words always full of passion and fire, but that one was calm. Nice. What he’d said was true. There was nothing there that was harmful. Simply a pretty story about a man who met God. “Thank you again, Kamal. The story was excellent.”
“It was my pleasure,” Iraj said. “It is a shame that Earth did not have the same view as I do. Take the problems that plagued the Middle East, for example. Everyone always looked here and there for the good guy and the bad guy. That is only natural, after all. In every struggle, everyone wants there to be a good guy. Unfortunately—and this counted for almost every war that happened there—it just wasn’t that kind of war. No strong-jawed heroes saving the day at the last minute. Only two people struggling over a patch of dirt because they felt they were owed it.” His face became a visage of disgust. “In the end, the apocalypse arrived before Israel and its neighbours figured it out. Now, apart from the Iranians on the Tehran and the Israeli fighter pilots on the Washington, Beijing, and scattered around the fleet, every single one of them is dead. Jerusalem is a barren wasteland, as is the entire planet. We never even got halfway to solving our problems before some greater force came and wiped us out. Good job.”
“Can’t say I disagree.” Liao stretched out her biological arm. “Anyway,” she said. “I just wanted to check in on you. I should go actually be a captain for a bit, especially if you’re here.”
“Good luck,” said Iraj. “Jiang has the conn. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Liao had barely gone ten paces beyond the door when Captain Williams, his scarred face full of worry, approached her. “Captain,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m fine,” said Liao. “Shaken, but fine. And Avaran’s dead… for real this time.”
Williams seemed relieved. “Good news, Captain, but I meant something else. The Knight’s returned.” His expression darkened as he held out a piece of paper. “With a message.”
She glanced down at its words:
WE ACCEPT YOUR TERMS.
CHAPTER VIII
Prisoner Exchange
*****
Cargo Bay
TFR Knight
Velsharn L1 Lagrange point
EVERY PREPARATION HAD BEEN MADE. The Knight was teaming with soldiers. Nerve gas canisters were deployed in critical junctions along the ship, and the Humans involved were inoculated—a painful injection which Liao resented but was grateful for. It disguised the itching on her arm.
The construct spun a plasma-pistol add-on for her arm, and Saeed installed it. Liao could not tell the difference, apart from a difference in weight.
Saeed cautioned her not to activate it, and she took that advice to heart.
In the cargo bay, two full rehearsals were performed, including fire drills and boarding and counterboarding actions. The prisoners were restrained by heavy manacles.
If the Toralii fired on them, the entire fleet would annihilate the hostile ship. If more ships jumped in, preset nukes would detonate, destroying them. If there were any signals, they would be jammed immediately.
If, if, if.
Almost a full day later, a contact appeared in the L1 Lagrange point. Code phrases were exchanged, proof of life was sent, and a video uplink established.
Eight Humans appeared, fuzzy and indistinct on the monitor but Humans nonetheless. They wore a mismatch of uniforms: some South Korean Marines, an American, an Iranian. The others were harder to make out.
The only time she truly felt nervous was when the docking umbilical attached itself to the cargo-bay airlock. Computerised scans checked and double checked—no gas, no biological agents, no harmful materials.
Still, of course, they took no chances and kept their airlock closed.
The Toralii prisoners were arranged on either side of her, four to the left and four to the right, with Crewman First Rank Kkezi being the closest on her left. Cheung and her Marines stood guard behind and beside them, boxing the prisoners in close.
Liao wanted the leader to be next to her in the event of any trouble.
A final, completely redundant set of scans was completed on the umbilical, and a large monitor in the cargo bay lit up. Their techs had set up a link to the Toralii ship on the other side, one heavily protected by firewalls, software locks, and encryption. It could only send and receive audio and video, nothing more.
In the dim glow of the monitor, she could see the Human prisoners. They were led out one by one. Each was a mirror of the Toralii standing in chains: hungry, dirty, eyes downcast. The only difference between the two was the profound welts, bruises, and other injuries present on the Humans. One common type, in particular, stood out for her: waffles. Grids of scars crisscrossed their backs, as though a hot mesh had been pressed to their skin.
Eerily, those were the exact kinds of marks present on James’s back, the same kind of torture he’d said he’d received during his time in Cenar.
Liao’s blood boiled, but she said nothing.
The eight Humans came to a halt, two barely in frame on the edges of the camera.
[“Kneel,”] commanded the Toralii Marine. On the other side of the thick glass, the Humans, casting confused glances at each other, knelt on the metal deck.
The hair on the back of Liao’s neck stood up. Something about the situation screamed odd to her. They had prepared for every possible treason, every betrayal. She forced herself to calmness, reminding herself that she was safe.
[“Commander Liao,”] said the Marine commander, her face obscured by the standard liquid-metal visor that all their Marines wore. Her voice was a low, angry snarl. [“I was not sure you would come in person.”]
“The health and welfare of my men is extremely important to me,” she said. It was also important to the continuation of their species, but she chose to omit that detail. “I will see to the matter personally. We have brought our prisoners, as was the agreement. I see you have brought yours.”
[“As was the agreement,”] said the Marine. [“I noticed all
the precautions you have taken, Captain. How exciting.”]
Liao ignored the barbs. “Let us make the exchange.” She nodded to Kkezi beside her. “This is Crewman First Rank Kkezi. He is the highest-ranking member of the prisoners we are willing to turn over to you. I will ask him to choose one of their member to be transferred across first, as a gesture of goodwill.”
Kkezi’s decision was immediate. [“Airmaiden Jara’s wounds are still serious. They need treatment. I elect her for the first transfer.”]
The wounded Toralii female flashed a grateful smile to her CO. Liao took the key from her belt and unlocked Jara’s chains. Limping and favouring her left leg, Jara shuffled past the red line in the centre of the room, into the airlock. It closed, hissing as it pressurised, then the other side opened to permit her into the umbilical between the two ships. Liao watched her retreat through the tiny glass window. Jara stepped into the Toralii side of the airlock and was gone.
A tense silence followed. The Toralii Marines in their suits did nothing. Jara appeared on the screen, her bonds were cut off, and she limped away out of sight.
“As we have established goodwill,” said Liao, “it is now time for you to return our prisoners. You may do so one at a time if you wish. We have eight remaining, you have eight. This seems fairest. When they cross the threshold to our ship, they will be placed into quarantine.”
[“Quarantine?”] The Toralii laughed mirthfully, but it was a cold, empty laugh. [“Captain Liao, I assure you, that will not be necessary.”]
“With the greatest of respect,” she said, “I will decide what is necessary or not with regard to the prisoner transfers.”
[“Why don’t I show you such things aren’t necessary?”]
As if following some unseen cue, the other Marines moved behind the Human prisoners, rifles in hand. The Marine commander touched the side of her helmet, revealing her face. She had patchy white-and-black fur, and her lips were curled into a dark, unhappy scowl.
“If you wish,” said Liao. “Although I doubt very much you can change my mind on this. Especially as you have made a point of saying it is unnecessary.”
[“Very well,”] the Toralii Marine on the screen said, moving directly behind the leftmost prisoner, a youthful Iranian man with his head lowered.
The Toralii drew her pistol and blasted the prisoner’s head into chunks.
Liao barely had a chance to protest, to do anything except gasp in alarm. In a blur of motion, the other Toralii Marines raised their rifles and, in a flash of plasma fire, blew their remaining prisoners to charred ashes.
Stunned silence.
[“I am so very glad you came in person,”] said the Marine, her tone icy, [“so you can see with your own eyes the penalty for standing against us.”]
Liao’s hands became fists which shook at her sides. She glared at the monitor as though she could burn the Toralii Marines to death with her stare. “You realise we will destroy your ship for this,” she said.
[“Of course.”]
More silence. The cargo bay was flooded with red light as, somewhere on the ship, someone sounded an alarm.
Not yet. Her anger boiled over.
“Kneel,” Liao commanded to those behind her.
Kkezi emitted a faint, shocked hiss. Nothing happened for a moment until—gradually and quietly—the Toralii prisoners, one by one, slid down to their knees.
“Lieutenant Yanmei Cheung,” Liao said, her gaze locked on the monitor, staring directly into the eyes of the Toralii female on the visiting ship, every word clearly articulated. “On my authority, execute these prisoners.”
“Rifles ready,” said Cheung, a faint tremor in her voice.
Click-click. The bolts on a dozen rifles were pulled back and rounds chambered.
“Aim.”
Liao’s eyes flicked down to Kkezi. He looked up at her, terrified, his pupils wide as saucers, all his fur standing on end. He said nothing and simply stared, shaking slightly, and Liao stared back.
[“It is war,”] he said simply.
She gripped her console tightly, giving herself time to retract the order.
“Fire.”
A deafening staccato roar, a dozen gunshots all at once, stole the light from his eyes. Crewman First Rank Kkezi slumped forward, exposing a blooming purple flower on his back. His blood gushed out onto the deck, pooling with the other Toralii growing out to kiss her boots.
The Toralii Marine on the monitor had seen the whole thing. If she felt any reaction at all, that was not clear on her face. [“You should never underestimate our resolve,”] she said.
“Nor you ours.” Liao stabbed a finger out and closed the connection. The monitor went dark. On the other side of the airlock, the umbilical detached. She slapped her radio.
“Liao to Operations. Destroy the opposing ship. Signal the Washington, Rubens, Madrid, and Beijing: launch all strike craft, charge hull plating, engage and destroy the hostile ship to the best of your ability.”
“This is Sabeen. Copy all. Relaying and engaging.”
The ship lurched. Liao turned and, wet boots thumping on the deck, made purple footprints on her way to the door.
“Captain,” said Cheung, her voice cracking. “What do we do with the bodies?”
“Flush them into space,” Liao spat without turning around as she left, power-walking to Operations.
The Toralii ship was torn to shreds. Liao watched the whole thing from the Knight’s Operations room. Railgun slugs, missiles, and autocannon rounds pounded the ship in waves, blasting hunks of metal off into space until the bare bones of her skeleton was revealed. Even as a corpse-ship with barely any atmosphere, the fleet fired and fired. Every missile that struck, every cannon shell that exploded on its surface, was a brilliant flower in the inky blackness of space.
Soon, there was nothing but hunks of debris, a slowly expanding cloud that grew thinner and thinner, and the guns stopped.
They had just wanted her to see that they were serious. The Toralii Alliance kept those men alive for all those months, simply so that—far in the future at an indeterminate time—they could make a statement about their willingness to be completely ruthless.
It seemed that the Toralii Alliance would keep people alive if they could be useful.
When the General Quarters call was rescinded and the clean-up and salvage operation began—not that there was much of anything to salvage, she noted—Liao could no longer stand to be in Operations. The sight of the faint twinkling of debris floating in space mocked her.
She initially stalked through the ship, angry and muttering to herself, until she ended up outside a former recreational hall that had been repurposed into a Marine barracks.
There was only one person in there: Cheung, sitting in the far corner by herself, a half-empty bottle of scotch in her hand.
“Hey,” said Liao. She leaned against the inside of the door. “Glad to see you have nice taste in drinks.”
“I’ve decided to try it,” Cheung said sardonically. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
Liao took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing. I just want to see if you’re okay. Truth be told, I could stand to talk to someone about… recent events.”
“Fine,” said Cheung. “I can talk.” She drank again, downing a mouthful of the high-proof alcohol with ease. “I was just thinking about the riot on Earth during the evacuation.”
A panicked scramble to leave a burning world. People had rushed the ships. They had been… repelled. “Mmm. Not our proudest moment, but the people were swarming the ship. We had a hard limit… I know this is exactly not what you want to hear right at this moment, but that was necessary. We needed to clear them away from the airlock.”
“I know.”
The screams of the dying filtered back to her, their ghosts reminding her of their pain. “We tried warning shots.”
“I know.”
“The people on the ground were dead anyway.” It was true. The area was hit moment
s afterward. The suffering would not have lasted long.
Small comfort.
“Mmm hmm.” Cheung swigged from the bottle. “Yeah. Oh, I know that. I’d mostly made my peace with that.”
“So why are you thinking about it?”
“Because,” she said, “I’m not sure I can deal with today. And I’m not sure what that means, if I’m happy with myself killing off Human beings but can’t deal with Toralii prisoners who were—let’s face it, based on their escape record—probably just looking for their next chance to try and get away and try murder us again.”
“Yeah,” said Liao. “They probably were.”
“So why do I feel really bad about it and really okay with shooting a bunch of folks in Texas?”
Liao thought about that for a bit.
“Everyone wants there to be a good guy,” said Liao, echoing Kamal’s earlier words. “In the first case, you had a clear case of right and wrong. Those guys were in the wrong, and you were in the right. This time… well, this is a dirty war, an ugly war, and it’s going to get uglier. We’re going to get badder, and they’re probably going to get gooder, I guess, and if you want easy solutions and clear boundaries between right and wrong, I don’t think you should stay in this game.”
“I don’t think so either.” Cheung smiled a clearly forced smile and slowly, deliberately screwed the bottle’s cap back on. She used the arm which had been horribly scarred during their initial confrontations with the Toralii. Even those days, veins of scar tissue seemed to run down the whole length, as if worms had been eating at her still-living flesh. “Thank you for coming to see me, Captain, but I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Captain, I’m drunk enough to go make a pass at Keller and see if I can get into that blond German babe’s pants. That’s pretty damn drunk. And if I’m thinking about sex, that means I’m at least something approximating okay.” Cheung smirked at her, waggling the bottle by the neck. “Besides, the guest quarters are really freaking nice, compared to the racks we have down here. As the head of Marines, I get my own room, technically. Is nice.”