by Saxon Keeley
Wild and mad, she moves in ways Wesley thought not possible. Wrestling him to the ground, her legs wrap around him and she relieves him of his rifle.
Li rushes into to help, but Magpie takes her knife and embeds it into his leg. Yanking at the blade, it tears through the microfibers of his exoskeleton. Finding her pistol on the ground, she unloads round after round at him. The force of the barrage of bullets sends Li hurtling backwards.
Squirming out of her clutches, Wesley wheezes as he catches his breath. A poorly aimed shot bounces off his shoulder pad. The pistol clicks as she frantically pulls the trigger again. Giving her no time to reload, he pounces, only to be thrown back to the ground. Rushing at him with a kick, Magpie buys enough time to make a run for the nearest factory.
Li manages to let off a few shots before she completely vanishes.
“Jung,” Li called out in pain. “I am alright. Go get her. I will be right behind you.”
Reaching high into the factory are several industrial sized cisterns. Scaffolding and suspended walkways ascend to the top. Chains rattle like wind chimes.
The stale metallic taste of the air aggravates Wesley’s throat. Coughing, he steadies himself against a steel pillar. In the little light there is, droplets of blood glisten, leaving a trail to follow. Li must have hit her.
Footsteps clang against metal as she runs overhead. Firing up into the levels above, sparks fly, hitting nothing.
Magpie laughs.
“Come, White Dragon. I promise you death.”
With an unwavering resolve, Wesley begins the chase. Keeping his steps light, the trail of blood leads the way.
Along the pathway between two cisterns, Wesley realises how open he has left himself. Vigilantly he watches any potential hiding spots. Twitching at the slightest of noises. Anticipating any disturbances felt in the air.
Swinging out from cover, Magpie darts for the stairs as they exchange fire. Twangs echo as metal collides with metal. Wesley manages to reach safety behind some machinery. Already he knows she managed to escape again.
Surprising him from above, he is only just able to jump out of the way of bullets raining down. From the railing, she watches him with a manic look, as if she was enjoying their battle.
Nowhere else to run to but the roof, Magpie holds off her pursuer as far back as her aim will allow. Wounded while escaping into the factory, the climb has exasperated blood loss. Pale and faint, her vision blurs. Loading the final clip, she breaks for the last place she has left to go.
Wesley notices the gas pipes running down the side of the tank next to him. While he dislodges a pipe with his rifle, he calls Li over the coms.
“I am here Jung. I do not think I will be able to get to you up there.”
“On…signal…grenade…top…floor.”
“You want me to grenade the top floor of the factory?” Li clarified, receiving a grunt in response.
The view from the rooftop is obscured by the blizzard. A few orange glows can be made out from distant fires, but nothing else. Magpie stands waiting for him. One hand placing pressure on her side, the other pointing her pistol. Neither of them make any sudden moves.
“Show me,” demanded Magpie. “Show me your true self.”
Dropping his weapon, Wesley tears the dressing from his face, exposing the leathery skin fused to his teeth. She almost mistakes him for smiling.
Her whisper is carried by the wind. “I see you.”
“I…see…you,” wheezed Wesley.
Madly the auburn-haired soldier begins to laugh. In her hysterics, she does not hear Wesley callout to Li. Just as instructed, Li launches a grenade through the top window. The explosion ignites the gas, blowing away the front of the building.
The dust settles and Wesley finds himself on what remains of the rooftop. The air scratches his throat, so he does his best not to inhale large breaths. A ringing in his ears muffles the world around him. Yet he can still hear her laughter.
Where she was standing is a gaping hole in the side of the factory. Cautiously he scales down the rubble to find her. Impaled on steel rods, she watches as Wesley approaches. Even now, he is careful not to get too close.
“Little dragon, I am impressed,” she sputtered.
“Why…all…this…murder?” he asked, half not expecting to receive an answer.
“Terror to prevent terror. I am committed to the contradiction,” she said, smiling to Wesley’s bemusement. “Red and gold. He saw it too…red and gold.”
“Who…?” Wesley asked.
“Wolf,” she answered to another blank look. “The soldier responsible for ending the war. The man who has prevented countless others from erupting. Wolf did what was necessary to protect peace. His only failing was to save a little girl from the mountains of China.”
“Little…girl?”
“Zhang Li,” she coughed, growing weak.
While Wesley struggles to understand the connection between his mother and this group, Magpie pulls out a warn leather diary from her pocket. She places it into his hands.
“It is your turn now, White Dragon. Do you have the resolve to do what is necessary? To prevent terror and bring about peace? Are you committed? I have done what I set out to do, it is your turn.”
“You…lost,” said Wesley, undermining her sense of triumph.
She sputters a laugh. “Foolish dragon. I have done exactly what I came here to do. Are you truly so blind? S.E.L. came to Maia, the Neo-Shanxi Army was drawn from Delta Nine. Neo-Shanxi has fallen…”
Magpie’s last words leave Wesley feeling sick. Falling into the rubble, he watches as her life fades away. In death, she finds her peace.
Watching them are ghostly figures of black and blue. As Li’s calls come closer, the figures disappear into the snowy streets. Wesley grips the diary tightly in his hands. His victory snuffed out and replaced by a deep dread.
*
As Maia orbits Thule, the sun breaks over the colony. The planet begins to warm and the frozen surface melts. Travelling down the mountains, rivers feed the great shimmering seas of Maia. In the city, the water trickles off the roofs, finding its way into the canals.
In only his underwear, Wesley watches from the window as the whole planet is transformed.
A knock on the door disturbs Wesley’s exhausted daze. Oscar enters the room carrying a cup of tea. Though he knows the beverage is not for him, it would be a welcome remedy if he were able to swallow. The brothers stand side by side admiring the view.
“Can hardly believe this is the same planet,” said Oscar. Fully appreciating that Wesley cannot make small talk in his current state, he relays the message he was given by the doctor. “The nurse will be here soon to clean up your wounds and give you a change of clothes. Breakfast was mentioned, but the manner which you will be fed, do not get too excited.”
Wesley sniggers, then coughs.
“Your friend is in the next room by the way,” Oscar informed him, then gently blows to cool his drink. “What you two did was reckless and foolish, but everyone here on Maia is in your debt. Shortly after you returned to camp, Thuỷ Phủ forces managed to push through. They reported no major resistance in the Foundry.”
“S…E…L…?” asked Wesley.
“A team was sent to the coordinates Li gave, but no bodies were recovered,” he explained. “I cannot believe the CERE had a military presence on Maia.”
Wesley wishes that he could explain, but it is as futile as much as he does not have the capability to do so. Instead he changes the subject to their brother.
“Alistair? You have played your role as a soldier, now he gets to play his as a politician. As we speak he is sitting through meeting after meeting, striking an accord with both Western and Chinese colonists. It all sounds incredibly dull if you ask me,” jested Oscar.
“Why…you…Maia?”
He smiles. “I am the bargaining chip. Proof that an alliance with Neo-Shanxi would be mutually beneficial. Once all the talks are over, I will ge
t to work on improving the TFP and the colony’s facilities.”
Turning their attention back to the window, they watch as children play outside in the pavilion. So much of the Lotus Gardens is reminiscent of home. Far out along the horizon, dark clouds gather. The colony will only have a few hours of good weather before the storm hits.
On the bedside cabinet, the warn diary lays unopened. Intrigued by the souvenir his brother came back with, Oscar inspects the tatty old thing. Careful not to ruin the pages, he quickly flicks through. The first third of the diary is written in English, the second in two languages he cannot read and the final third is blank. Turning back to the first page, he deciphers the scruffy handwriting.
“‘All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make them believe we are near…’
“A quote from Sun Tzu, how very ominous,” he joked, not realising the look on Wesley’s face. “I am sorry brother. None of this should have ever of happened. Your squad. I cannot imagine the pain you are going through right now. Anything that you need, just ask.”
Unable to prevent his emotional outpour, Wesley breaks down into tears. Oscar places his tea on the cabinet and consoles his younger brother. Burring his head into Oscar’s shoulder, the discomfort of crying aggravates his throat. There is little either of them can do to ease the pain.
Outside, Wesley notices the contrails that mark the sky. Wiping away the tears, he tracks the vessels descending into Maia’s atmosphere. As more follow, the colony’s sirens begin to wail. Landing just outside the district are Grey Herons from Shanxi.
Charging through the infirmary, Wesley manages to find some trousers before joining the rest of the staff heading towards the landing field. Confused speculation disperses amongst the congregating crowds. Medics and soldiers prepare themselves for the worst.
A scuffed and dented Grey Heron lands at the edge of the Lotus Gardens. Wesley and Oscar wait anxiously. The hatch swings open and a frightened, blood-soaked colonist stumbles out.
“Help! We need help!”
Without hesitation Oscar springs into action. Climbing on board, he begins to help carry the injured out of the boat. People rush towards the Grey Herons pulling survivors out into the city.
Radio contact is made with Shanxi and Thuỷ Phủ soldiers demanding assistance. A few hope to break up the meeting Alistair is currently attending.
Maia is once again plunged into chaos. All around him, Shanxi colonists are being wrapped in blankets, given water, carried off on stretchers or laid out in rows. Mothers search for their children. Lone men stroll aimlessly with a sombre detachment, having already witnessed the loss of loved ones. Boat after boat, the story is the same.
Seeking answers, Wesley tries anybody willing to talk. An old man, with his head in bloody bandages and the Neo-Shanxi Dragon on his jacket, recognises him.
“Du Jianguo and the CERE sympathisers escaped. They stormed the Assembly with CERE soldiers and shot anyone in support of the Chairman. Zhang has been charged with treason and your family…they have all been detained. No one knows what has happened to them,” the old man explained.
“Black…blue…?” asked Wesley.
“Yes. How did you?” said the man surprised.
Before he can expect an answer, Wesley drifts off farther into the massing refugees. The cold muddy earth beneath his bare feet has turned to slush. Those trying to offer aid slip and slide, causing more disorder.
“Someone! He is dying,” a voice cried out.
Navigating through the crowd, Wesley finds a young woman nursing his father in her lap. Charles looks pale, covered in blood and mud. Begging for anyone to help, she no longer has the strength to carry him. As he kneels beside her, she finds his appearance unsettling.
“Please, you have to help him.”
A reassuring nod is all he can give her. Taking his father in his arms, Wesley marches towards the nearest available doctor. He is shocked at how feeble Charles feels.
Panicking, Wesley forgets to look where he is walking and trips over a small child, the two of them come crashing down into the mud. Amongst the chaos, nobody even notices their tumble. Wheezing as he claws his way over to his father’s body, Wesley slowly comes to an acceptance.
He places an ear against Charles’ lips, there is no sign of life. Holding his father tight, he waits for someone to find them.
*
The storm eventually came. Maia and Shanxi colonists buried their families by a lake north of the city. Hundreds of graves litter the field. Mass ceremonies were offered, most chose to keep the affair private. Kind-hearted volunteers laid to rest those who have no one left to perform the service for them. Though there wasn’t much organisation in the layout, people found the compassion to allow enough space for loved ones to join them later. The bodies of soldiers who died during the revolt are to be cremated in the days to come, returned home when possible. Such uncertainty hangs in the air.
Every family was given a red column, excess material found in one of the storehouses, a brush and black paint. Charles was no exception. Wesley feeds the column into the ground. Oscar and Alistair fill the gaps. In English, his full name and title is written. Nothing else.
The three sons stand before their father’s tombstone, drenched, muddy and emotionally drained. None of them can properly grieve. All that has happened is eclipsed by the fear of what is happening on Shanxi and to their families. Those fears go unspoken in case the worst is true.
“We should say something,” Oscar muttered in English. He picks up the bottle of whiskey held upright by the mud and takes a large swig. “To a man who gave humanity the stars.”
“To a father who sacrificed everything for his children,” Alistair continued, taking a drink.
“Father…” Wesley attempted.
Giving up, he is passed the bottle and lets the liquid trickle down his throat. Instantly he coughs it up.
Finally, they pour one last measure as an offering to their father.
Quietly they stand. All around them people morn. The drivels of grief begin to irritate the three sons. Growing restless, Wesley is the first to make the move to leave.
“Brother wait,” interrupted Alistair. “I have something for you. It seems ridiculous now, but still.”
“Keep…it…” Wesley scoffed.
“We will find the strength to overcome this, as long as we are together,” said his brother.
Holding out his hand, Alistair gifts him a ring made of the finest Shanxi silver. Inscribed on the outside is the character ‘family’. Oscar also receives one.
“‘You must defend your honour and your family’,” Oscar inspected the inside. “Thank you, brother.”
Surprised to find it a perfect fit, Wesley offers a crooked smile in appreciation. Leading the way back to the city, the brothers will allow themselves one drunken night of grief before strategizing how they intend to save their families.
Neo-Shanxi
Li Jung
A gentle breeze brushes Li’s cheek. Regaining consciousness, her vision takes a while to adjust to the blackness she finds herself in. Her wrists are bound behind her back. Wire cuts into her ankles that are tied to the legs of the chair. She gasps quietly, not wanting to alert her captor. The stench in the air is something awful. Damp and festering.
An inhuman growl mummers in the darkness. Patters of paws circle her. Two pairs of dark beady eyes hungrily glare.
Directly in front, another pair watch her. But these are large, bug like eyes. The figure lets out a muffled gratified moan. Striking a flare, the red glow reveals the soldier. The uniform is similar to the woman’s who threatened her and her baby in New York all those years ago. On his armband is an image of two dogs, just like the creatures that join him at his feet.
The flare is thrown to the floor.
“It is so nic
e to see that you came dressed in your finest,” mocked Dogs.
Surrounding them are the surviving works of Li Hu’s depiction of Nanjing, hung against a jade backdrop. With her own work on display here, Li recognises she is in the Shanxi Gallery of the Assembly building.
“We have been following you and your husband’s career closely for quite some time. What a shame that such brilliance was wasted on an undeserving people.”
Startled by the vicious barking of the dogs, Li begins to hyperventilate. All three creatures can smell her fear. Excited by it. She watches her reflection in the lenses as the soldier creeps towards her.
Drawing his knife, he runs the blade along her leg, careful not to break the skin. In one flick, the seam of her cheongsam is undone to her hip. Li pleads with the soldier.
“I am not interested in your flesh,” said Dogs, cutting her free from the bonds.
Li sits trembling, rubbing her swore wrists better. As if it were merely a child’s game, Dogs finds out a small sand timer and begins the countdown.
“I cannot say the same for them.”
The creatures’ barking becomes incessant. Drool dangles from their fangs. They have been starved specially for this occasion.
Shoving the soldier to the floor, Li uses all the energy she has left to flee. Realising she won’t make it far wearing heels, she kicks them off, leaving them behind. Though she has visited the gallery many times, all the exhibits look the same in the dark. Trying to find a point of reference, she knocks priceless works of art off the walls. The racket echoes through the gallery.
Banging on locked doors and disabled elevators, Li knows she has not got much time left until the dogs catch her. Her pace is impaired by her distress. Hopelessly looking around, a gentle breeze touches her skin. It is cool and calming, calling to her.
Following the flow of air to a shattered window, shards of glass carpet the floor. Any reservations Li had are forgotten as the howls of the beasts draw near. No matter how lightly she treads, glass pierces her skin. Bloody footprints make their way to the ledge.