The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Fourteenth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “I have not heard that Kengtze years were lucky for the Pure Dynasty,” Jung Lu remarks. But Prince Tuan doesn’t even slow down.

  “There are other indications that war is at hand,” he says. “The red planet Mars is high in the heavens, and the ancients spoke truly when they declared, ‘When Mars is high, prepare for war and civil strife; when Mars sinks below the horizon, send the soldiers home.’

  “But there is another indication more decisive than any of these. Heaven has declared its will by dropping meteors upon the Middle Kingdom. Three falling stars have landed outside of Tientsin. Another three landed south of the capital near Yungtsing. According to the office of Telegraph Sheng, three have also landed in Shantung, three more southwest of Shanghai, and three near Kwangtung.”

  The Dowager Empress and the Emperor exchange glances. Several of these falling meteors have been observed from the palace, and their significance discussed. But reports of meteors landing in threes throughout eastern China are new.

  “Heaven is declaring its will!” Prince Tuan says. “The meteors have all landed near places where there are large concentrations of Foreign Devils! Obviously Heaven wishes us to exterminate these vermin!”

  Tuan gives a triumphant laugh and draws the Shangfang Sword. The Emperor turns pale and shrinks into his heavy brocade robes.

  “I demand an edict from the Dragon Throne!” Tuan shouts. “Let the Son of Heaven command that all Foreign Devils be killed!”

  The Emperor tries to speak, but terror has plainly seized his tongue. Choosing her words carefully, the Dowager Empress speaks in his place. Delay, she thinks.

  “We will consult the auspices and act wisely in accordance with their wishes.”

  Prince Tuan gives a roar of anger and brandishes the sword. “No more delay! Heaven has made its will clear! If you don’t issue the edicts, I’ll do it myself!”

  There is a moment of horrified silence. The Emperor’s face turns stony as he looks at Prince Tuan. Sweat pops onto his brow with the effort to control his tongue.

  “W-w-why,” he stammers, “don’t you go k-k-k-kill yourself?”

  There is another moment of silence. Prince Tuan coldly forces a smile onto his face.

  “The Son of Heaven makes a very amusing witticism,” he says.

  And then, at swordpoint, he commands the Imperial Seal Eunuch to bring out the heavy seal that will confirm his edicts.

  Watching, the Dowager Empress’s heart floods with sorrow.

  * * *

  It is the Hour of the Tiger, two days after Prince Tuan seized control. A red dawn provides a scarlet blush to the yellow hangings. Tuan and his allies confer before the Dragon Throne. Tuan has brought his son, the imperial heir Pu Chun, to watch his father as he commands the fate of China. The boy spends most of his time practicing martial arts, pretending to skewer Foreign Devils with his sword.

  The Emperor, disgusted, smokes a cigarette behind a wall hanging. No one bothers to ask his opinion of the edicts that are going out under his seal.

  The Righteous Harmony Fists have all been drafted into the army and sent to reinforce General Nieh standing between Tientsin and the capital. Governors have been ordered to defend their provinces against attack. Jung Lu’s army has been ordered to wipe out the foreigners in the legation quarter, but so far he has found reason to delay.

  Can China fight the whole world? the Dowager Empress wonders.

  But she sits on her yellow cushion, and smokes her water pipe, and plays with her little lion dogs while she pretends unconcern. It is all she can do.

  A messenger arrives and hands to Jung Lu a pair of messages from the office of Telegraph Sheng, and Jung Lu reads them with a puzzled expression. He approaches the Empress, leans close, and speaks in a low tone.

  “The Foreign Devils off Tientsin have ordered our troops to evacuate the Taku Forts by midnight—that is midnight yesterday, so the ultimatum has already expired.”

  Anxiety grips the Empress’s heart. “Can our troops hold the forts?”

  Jung Lu frowns. “Their record is not good.”

  If the Taku Forts fall, the Empress knows, Tientsin will fall. And once Tientsin falls, it is but a short march from there to Peking. It has all happened before.

  Sick at heart, the Empress remembers the headlong flight from the capital during the Second Opium War, how her happy, innocent little lion dogs had been thrown down wells rather than let the Foreign Devils capture them.

  It is going to happen again, she thinks.

  Prince Tuan marches toward them. Hearing his steps, Jung Lu’s face turns to a mask. He hides the first message in his sleeve.

  “This unworthy servant hopes the mighty commander of the Military Guards Army will share his news,” Tuan says.

  Jung Lu hands Tuan the second of the two messages. “Confused news of fighting south of Tientsin. Some towns have been destroyed—the message says by monsters that rode to earth on meteors, but obviously the message was confused. Perhaps he meant to say that meteors have landed on some towns.”

  “Were they Christian towns?” Tuan asks. “Perhaps Heaven’s vengeance is falling on the Secondary Foreign Devils. There are many Christians around Tientsin.”

  “The message does not say.”

  Prince Tuan looks at the message and spits into his pocket spittoon. “It probably doesn’t matter,” he says.

  * * *

  It is the Hour of the Snake. Bright morning sun blazes on the room’s yellow hangings. A lengthy dispatch has arrived from the office of Telegraph Sheng. Prince Tuan reads it, then laughs and swaggers toward the captive Emperor.

  “This miserable one regrets to report to the Throne that last night an allied force of Foreign Devils captured the forts at Taku,” he says.

  Then why are you smiling? the Empress wonders, and takes a slow, deliberate puff of smoke from her water pipe while she strives to control her alarm.

  “Are steps being taken to rectify the situation?” asks the Emperor.

  Tuan’s smile broadens. “Heaven, which is just, has acted on behalf of the Son of Heaven. The Foreign Devils, their armies, and their fleets have been destroyed!”

  The Empress exchanges glances with her nephew. The Emperor gives a puzzled frown as he absorbs the information. “Please tell us what has occurred,” he says.

  “The armies of the Foreign Devils were preparing to advance on Tientsin from Taku,” Prince Tuan says, “when a force of metal giants appeared from the south. The Foreign Devils were obliterated! Their armies were destroyed by a blast of fire, and then their warships!”

  “I fail to understand…,” the Empress begins.

  “It’s obvious!” Prince Tuan says. “The metal giants rode from heaven to earth on meteors! The Jade Emperor must have sent them expressly to destroy the Foreign Devils.”

  “Perhaps our information is incomplete,” Jung Lu says cautiously.

  Prince Tuan laughs. “Read the dispatch yourself,” he says, and carelessly shoves the long telegram into the older man’s hands.

  The Emperor looks from one to the other, suspicion plain on his face. He clearly does not know whether to believe the news, or whether he wants to believe.

  “We will wait for confirmation,” he says.

  * * *

  More dispatches arrive over the course of the day. The destruction of the foreign armies and fleets is confirmed. Confused news of fighting comes from other areas where meteors are known to have landed. Giants are mentioned, as are bronze tripods. Prince Tuan and other members of his Iron Hat Faction swagger in triumph, boasting of the destruction of all the Foreign Devils. Pu Chun, the imperial heir, skips about the room in delight, pretending he is a giant and kicking imaginary armies out of his path.

  It is the Hour of the Monkey. Supper dishes have been brought into the audience chamber, and the council members eat as they view the dispatches.

  “The report from Tientsin says that the city is on fire,” Jung Lu reports. “The message is unfinished. Apparen
tly something happened to the telegraph office, or perhaps the wires were cut.”

  Kuang Hsu scowls. His face is etched with tension, and he speaks only with difficulty. “Tientsin is a city filled with our loyal subjects. If they are on our side, how is it that the Falling Star Giants are destroying a Chinese city?”

  “There are many Foreign Devils in Tientsin,” Prince Tuan says. “Perhaps it was necessary to destroy the entire city in order to eradicate the foreign influence.”

  A look of disgust passes across the Emperor’s face at this casual attitude toward his subjects. He opens his mouth to speak, but then a spasm crosses his face. He flushes in shame.

  The others in the room politely turn their gaze to the wall hangings while the Emperor has an orgasm.

  Afterward he cannot speak at all. He fumbles with his soiled dragon robes as he walks behind the hangings in order to smoke a cigarette.

  Watching his attempt to regain his dignity, the Dowager Empress feels her heart flood with sorrow.

  * * *

  Over the next two days, messages continue to arrive. Telegraph offices in the major cities are destroyed, and soon the only available information comes from horsemen galloping to the capital from local commanders and provincial governors.

  General Nieh’s army, stationed between Peking and Tientsin, has been wiped out by Falling Star Giants, along with most of the Righteous Harmony Fists that had been sent as reinforcements. Their spirit magic has proved inadequate to the occasion. From the information available it would seem that Shanghai, Tsingtao, and Canton have been attacked and very possibly destroyed. Just south of Peking, in Hopeh, three Falling Star Giants have been causing unimaginable destruction in one of China’s richest provinces, and Hopeh’s governor has committed suicide after admitting to the Throne his inability to control the situation.

  The Dowager Empress notes that the Iron Hats’ swaggering is noticeably reduced.

  “Perhaps it is time,” says Jung Lu, “to examine the possibility that the Falling Star Giants are just another kind of Foreign Devil, as rapacious as the first, and more powerful.”

  “Nonsense,” says Prince Tuan automatically. “Heaven has sent the Falling Star Giants to aid us.” But he looks uncertain as he says it.

  It is the Hour of the Sheep. The midday sun beats down on the capital, turning even the shady gardens of the Forbidden City into broiling ovens.

  The Emperor struggles with his tongue. “W-we desire that the august prince Jung Lu continue.”

  Jung Lu is happy to oblige. “This unworthy servant begs the Throne to recall that General Nieh and the Righteous Harmony Fists were neither Foreign Devils nor Christians, and they were destroyed. There are few Foreign Devils or Secondary Foreign Devils in Hopeh, but the massacres there have been terrible. And everywhere the Falling Star Giants appear, many more Chinese than Foreign Devils have been killed.” Jung Lu looks solemn. “I regret the necessity to alert the Throne to a dangerous possibility. If the Falling Star Giants advance west up the railway line from Tientsin, and simultaneously march north from Hopeh, Peking will be caught between two forces. I must sadly recommend that we consider the defense of the capital.”

  The Dowager Empress glances at Prince Tuan, expecting him to contradict this suggestion, but instead the prince only gnaws his lip and looks uncertain.

  A little flame of hope kindles in the Empress’s heart.

  The Emperor also sees Tuan’s uncertainty and presses his advantage while he can. “Has the commander of the Military Guards Army any suggestions to make?” he asks.

  “From the reports available,” Jung Lu says, “it would seem that the Falling Star Giants have two weapons. The first is a beam of heat that incinerates all that it touches. This we call the Fire of the Meteor, from the flame of a falling star, and it is used to defeat armies and fleets. The second weapon is a poison black smoke that is fired from rockets. This we call the Tail of the Meteor, from a falling star’s smoky tail, and it is used against cities, smothering the entire population.”

  “These weapons are not new,” says a new voice. It is old Kang I, the Grand Councillor.

  Kang I is a relic of a former age. In his many years he has served four emperors, and in his rigid adherence to tradition and hatred of foreigners has joined the Iron Hats from pure conviction.

  Kang I spits into his pocket spittoon and speaks in a loud voice. “This worthless one begs the Throne to recall the Heng Ha Erh Chiang, the Door Gods. At the famous Battle of Mu between the Yin and the Chou, Marshal Cheng Lung was known as Heng the Snorter, because when he snorted, two beams of light shot from his nostrils and incinerated the enemy. Likewise, Marshal Ch’en Chi was known as Ha the Blower, because he was able to blow out clouds of poisonous yellow gas that smothered his foe.

  “Thus it is clear,” he concludes, “that these weapons were invented centuries ago in China, and must subsequently have been stolen by the Falling Star Giants, who are obviously a worthless and imitative people, like all foreigners.” He falls silent, a superior smile ghosting across his face.

  The Empress finds herself intrigued by this anecdote. “Does the esteemed councillor know if the historical records offer a method of defeating these weapons?”

  “Indeed. Heng the Snorter was killed by a spear, and Ha the Blower by a magic bezoar spat at him by an ox-spirit.”

  “We have many spears,” Jung Lu says softly. “But this ignorant one confesses his bafflement concerning where a suitable ox-spirit may be obtained. Perhaps the esteemed Grand Councillor has a suggestion?”

  The smile vanishes from Kang I’s face. “All answers may be found in the annals,” he says stonily.

  The Emperor, admirably controlling any impulse to smile at the Iron Hat’s discomfort, turns again to Jung Lu. “Does the illustrious prince have any suggestions?”

  “We have only three forces near Peking,” Jung Lu says. “Of these, my Military Guards Army is fully occupied in blockading the foreign legations here in Peking. General Tung’s horsemen are already in a position to move eastward to Tientsin. This leaves our most modern and best-equipped force, the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen, admirably suited to march south to stand between the capital and the Falling Star Giants of Hopeh. May this unworthy one suggest that the Dragon Throne issue orders to the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen and to General Tung at once?”

  The Empress, careful to keep her face impassive, watches Prince Tuan as Jung Lu makes his recommendations. The ten thousand Tiger-Hunt Marksmen and General Tung’s Muslim cavalry are Prince Tuan’s personal armies. All his political power derives from his military strength. To risk his forces in battle is to endanger his own standing.

  “What of the Throne?” Tuan asks. “If the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen march south, who will guard His Majesty? The Imperial Guard are only a few hundred men—surely their numbers are inadequate.”

  “The Throne may best be guarded by defeating the Falling Star Giants,” Jung Lu says.

  “I must insist that half the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen be left in the capital to guard the person of the Son of Heaven,” Tuan says.

  The Empress and Emperor look at one another. Best to act now, the Empress thinks, before Prince Tuan regains his confidence. Half the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen are better than all.

  Kuang Hsu turns back to the princes. “We leave it to you,” he says.

  * * *

  In the still night the tramp of boots echoes from the high walls of the Forbidden City. Columns of Tiger-Hunt Marksmen, under the command of Tuan’s brother Duke Lan, are marching off to meet the enemy. In the Hour of the Dog, after nightfall, one of the Empress’s blue-gowned maidens escorts Prince Jung Lu into her presence. He had avoided the Tiger-Hunt Marksmen by using the tunnels beneath the Forbidden City—they were designed to help servants move unobtrusively about their duties, but over the years they have been used for less licit purposes.

  “We are pleased to express our gratitude,” the Empress says, and takes from around her neck a necklace in which each pearl has been carved
into the likeness of a stork. She places the necklace into the hands of her delighted maid.

  Sad, she thinks, that it is necessary to bribe her own servants to encourage them to do what they should do unquestioningly, which is to obey and keep silent.

  The darkness of the Empress’s pavilion is broken only by starlight reflected from the yellow hangings. The odor of Nine Buddha incense floats in the air.

  “My friend,” she tells Jung Lu, and reaches to touch his sleeve. “You must survive this upcoming battle. You and your army must live to rescue the Emperor from the Iron Hats.”

  “My life is in the hands of Fate,” Jung Lu murmurs. “I must fight alongside my army.”

  “I order you to survive!” the Empress demands. “His Majesty cannot spare you.”

  There is a moment of silence, and then the old man sighs.

  “This unworthy one will obey Her Majesty,” he says.

  Irrational though it may be, the Empress begins to glimpse a tiny, feeble ray of hope.

  * * *

  Hot western winds buffet the city, and the sky turns yellow with loess, dust blown hundreds of li from the Gobi Desert. It falls in the courtyards of the Forbidden City, on the shoulders of the black-clad eunuchs as they scurry madly through the courtyards with arms full of valuables or documents. Hundreds of carts jam the byways. The Imperial Guard, in full armor, stand in disciplined lines about the litters of the royal family. Prince Tuan stands in the yard, waving the Shangfang Sword and shouting orders. Nobody obeys him, least of all his own son, Pu Chun, the imperial heir who crouches in terror beneath a cart.

  The court is fleeting the city. Yesterday, the Falling Star Giants finally made their advance on Peking. At first the news was all bad, horsemen riding into the city with stories of entire regiments being incinerated by the Fire of the Meteor.

  After that it was worse, because there was no news at all.

  In the early hours of the morning an order arrived from Jung Lu to evacuate the court to the Summer Palace north of the city. Since then, all has been madness.

  It is the Hour of the Hare, early in the morning. The Empress’s blue-clad maidservants huddle in knots, weeping. The Empress, however, is made of sterner stuff. She has been through this once before. She picks up one of her little lion dogs and thrusts it into the arms of one of her maids.