by Adams, David
"It would have been more dangerous to take her with you."
James was crying. She was crying. They weren't captains of mighty warships facing down danger; they were two parents grieving for the loss of a child, on an alien world, the tattered remnants of their species huddled around their ships for warmth.
"I'm here now," said James, holding her tightly. "Don't worry."
She didn't know how long she stood out there in the rain, but it was long enough to cry all her tears. James took her in from the rain, back under the open gate of the hangar. Civilians watched them while pretending not to look, but she completely ignored them.
"You're going to be okay, yeah?"
Liao nodded, numbly. "Yeah," she managed to say.
It was the first time she had really cried, really grieved, and it was a process that would take time. Her whole life, possibly. It was a sobering thought; to feel this emptiness, this loss, this hole in herself for as long as she lived.
When the Toralii attacked Sydney, she had received a wound. The Australian surgeons treated her well, but despite the best of care, a lingering reminder remained. A long, thin scar on her hip. She would bear it for all of her days.
As she would this scar, this one in her heart.
James held her again. "Good. We have a lot to do." He gestured to the civilians who crowded the hangar bay. "These people are going to need you."
They did. Cheung had made that abundantly clear with her speech. "They don't need me," she said quietly but with a growing strength in her voice. "They need shelter, houses, crops, electricity. They have practical needs, not for soldiers."
James shook his head. "Listen, I don't know what the situation is on the ground. I don't know. But I know this. Things are not going to be as they were. They never will. What we need now is people. Human beings. That's what's going to make the difference in the long run. People. The ability to carry on."
She nodded meekly, having nothing to refute James's point.
He seemed ready to say more then just kissed her forehead. "Come on," he said, "you're freezing. Let's get back to your quarters."
Liao barely remembered walking back to her quarters. James was right; it was cold. The air-conditioning on the Beijing made it pleasantly cool and warded away the daytime sun but suddenly sapped the heat from her body when she was wet. James went first, leading her through her own ship, a towel across her back. She didn't know how he found that.
Fortunately, she was so wet and unlike herself that nobody seemed to recognise her. Or if they did, they said nothing.
James closed the door to her quarters, and she stripped out of her clothes. Then with a faint whine, her coffee machine started up. Jeeves, she called it. Her assistant getting her through the long nights.
"How much have you had to eat?" James asked.
Liao shook her head.
He didn't look pleased. "When was the last time you had any water?"
She shrugged.
"Here," he said, giving her a black mug full of water. He held a warm mug of black coffee, steam pouring off it. "Hydrate first, caffeinate second."
"I had some water," she protested, but as she started to drink, she realised how cracked and dried her lips were. She had only just come out of the rain, but already her body felt dry. She drank eagerly, spilling it all over her front.
"Okay," said James. "More water first."
Another mug of water appeared. Another mug disappeared, more carefully this time.
Then the coffee. Liao cupped it in her hands, wincing at how hot it was. But as she held it, she realised that it was actually quite cool; her hands were cold. She sipped it absently.
"People think commanding officers don't get combat stress reaction," James observed. "But they do. Remember that."
Liao finally looked at him—right in the eyes—and shook her head. "No. I'm fine."
"I look like garbage," he said, pointing to himself. "I stepped from a war zone to a planetary catastrophe, to the end of our species. I haven't slept either, you know. I haven't bathed. I haven't done anything… and I'm taking care of you. Going to be honest, you look like hell."
"I'm not weak," Liao protested, an edge of anger in her voice.
"Never said you were," James answered, smoothly and evenly. "You blame yourself. I know, Melissa. I know. I feel the same way… I just can't think about that right now. Hell, I'm lucky I could leave Belthas IV. Commander Farah Sabeen is handling the evacuation well, though. Thank heavens."
Some of James's words started to sink in. "Wait," she said, putting down the mug. "Planetary catastrophe? What evacuation?"
"Ben's jump drive went critical."
Liao nodded. "I know. Right as his ship was breaking up. I was there."
"No, no, you don't understand. It's forming a singularity."
Her eyes widened. "A singularity…? Their jump drive survived impact? We detected anomalous readings, but I thought it was just the remnants of the experimental device that could jump anywhere… it always emitted strange signals…."
"It did, but that wasn't it."
Liao just stared into nothing. "How many Toralii are on that planet?"
"10,000. Most are aboard the Tehran now or the various Telvan ships."
The scene on Earth had been repeated on Belthas IV, in micro scale. Liao felt a stab of guilt, but she shook it away. "How many casualties?"
"A few," said James. "But chaos is our main enemy. Our forces are scattered all over the place. The Telvan's, too. Half the ship's inhabitants are Toralii, and a fair number of our Broadswords docked with Telvan ships. We're all having an impromptu cultural exchange."
She nodded mutely.
"So," James continued, "while I'm needed over there, I'm clearly needed over here, too. And I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're okay."
"I'm going to be fine," she said, not even believing it herself.
James touched her shoulder. "You need a hot shower, or you're going to get sick."
This was true. She was still cold, and not even hot coffee had changed that. "Okay."
"Hey." James touched her cheek. "You should shower because you feel cold, not because I want you to."
She vaguely understood the difference.
"I'm worried about you."
She went to tell him that she would be okay, but the buzzer to her quarters rang.
"I'll get that," said James, but Liao wrapped the wet towel around herself and went along, too.
On the other side of the door, waiting with an eager smile, was a young girl who couldn't be more than ten or eleven. Liao's marines kept her some distance from the door. When she saw them, her eyes went wide.
"O—oh my God," she said with a thick southern American accent, "I didn't mean to interrupt the two of—"
"Don't worry about it," said James, waving the girl through. "Captain Liao's busy, obviously, but can I help you with something?"
In the past, they would have been much more discreet. She would have sent away the visitor, or at the very least had the marines ask what they wanted.
Now she didn't care.
"I… was kind of hoping that Miss Liao would sign my book."
"Book?" asked James, confusion in his tone. "What book?"
"Dancing Amongst the Stars." The girl held out a thick, tattered paperback. Liao could only see the back cover—a picture of the night sky with what she presumed to be an artist's interpretation of the TFR Beijing floating in the background. "That book about the two of you. My dad gave it to me for Christmas last year, and he's still on Earth, so I wanted to read it again."
Still on Earth. Liao grimaced, unable to tell her the truth. "He let someone your age read that book?"
"Dad said I was mature enough to handle it. He said it was important for me to know about famous people, because he wanted me to go to school and go into space."
It was hard to get information about the Task Force Resolution activities, but James voiced her thoughts before she could.
; "That novel is garbage," said James. "It's an unauthorised, shameless fiction. I didn't meet Captain Liao during a spacewalk, I didn't take her to the Eiffel Tower—incidentally, I'm Belgian, not French—and I could barely get halfway through it because of the terrible writing and overblown dialogue. It's shameless capitalisation on a tragedy."
The girl's face fell. Liao felt sorry for her.
"Wait," she said, "it's not real?"
"It's a story," said James. "It's an interesting one, but it's not what really happened."
"Oh."
She went to shut the door, but Liao reached out for it. "Wait." She held out her hand. "May I see the book?"
The girl hesitated and then handed it over. The picture on the front was a woman with long hair and an hourglass figure, wearing what Liao assumed was a People's Republic of China Army Navy uniform vaguely described to a graphic artist without access to the Internet. In the background was a man with a vague resemblance to James and, clearly, a long successful career ahead of him as an underwear model. They were standing on the Eiffel tower, somewhere she'd never been.
It was all so surreal to her. The existence of this novel a year ago, during her court case, had been the worst thing in the world. She hated the fact that her face, her name, was so public that anyone could write stories about her and be protected. She hated being exploited. Seen as a sexual object instead of as the commanding officer of a warship, fighting and suffering to protect mankind.
Now the story meant nothing to her. It was almost childish, and it was odd that such a thing had once bothered her so. Meaningless words on a page had hurt her.
"This book belongs in a museum," she said. James nearly choked beside her.
The girl's smile returned. "Really? You think so?"
"It's a part of our history," she said, as much to James as to her visitor. "And I mean that. It's… well, it's fictional, but so much of what we had is lost now. An entire planet's worth of civilisations, all with their heritage, culture, stories. The destruction of the Great Library of Alexandria was nothing compared to this." She smiled to herself, turning the book over in her hands. "It's ironic, in that aside from the few instances of physical media that escaped, the only copies we have of everything our species ever produced are in the private collections of our crewmen and the computer systems on our ships. We even had a backup, of sorts, with the Telvan here on Velsharn… until Ben destroyed it."
The girl looked at her. "What?"
"Never mind," Liao said, moving to hand the book back and then stopping herself. "I tell you what. I'll sign the book, if you'll take it to Rowe to be scanned and a high resolution digital copy made and placed in our ship's archives."
"Um, sure."
Liao walked over to her desk, searching for her fountain pen. It was in the top drawer, as it usually was, along with her sidearm. She withdrew it and, balancing the book in one hand, opened the cover and first page. "What's your name?"
"Olivia, ma'am. Olivia Grant. Can you dedicate it to my dad? His name is Christian."
The use of the present tense bothered her, but she signed it.
To Olivia and Christian,
You hold history in your hands.
- Commander Melissa Liao
Liao handed it back to its owner. "I'll let Miss Rowe know you're coming."
Olivia's excitement was obvious. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll drop it by in a day or two. Bye." She smiled then left.
Liao closed the door.
"That was… odd," said James, raising an eyebrow at her. "'It belongs in a museum?' Really? It belongs in an incinerator."
"I meant what I said. It's a terrible story, and I know that, but it's a cultural artefact now."
"God help us."
Liao couldn't help but smile, just a little. "You really read that book?"
"I think it's charitable to call it a book, but yes." His relief was genuine. "It's good to see you smile."
"It's the little things, I guess," she said, then made her way over to the shower.
Liao genuinely felt better the moment the water turned warm and her bathroom started to fill up with steam. She washed with soap and water then shampooed her hair. This was the most important part of the process. It allowed her to feel clean and refreshed, and it was only after she stepped out of the stream of water into the steamy shower room that she realised just how tired she was.
Sleep would come soon, but not right now.
She towelled herself off and then went back outside to her quarters. James was asleep in her chair. One part of her wanted to continue talking with him, but he needed to sleep. Instead, she pulled on a fresh uniform from her wardrobe, tied her hair up in a tight bun, fished her radio from the pile of wet clothes and then left for Operations.
The corridors of her ship were full of people. This no longer bothered her. As she drew closer to the core of the ship, to the more protected and restricted areas, the crowds thinned out. Soon it was just her crew. A single marine guarded the doors to Operations, the first time she had seen just one. Iraj or Cheung must have changed the shifts. It made sense, though, with the numbers of civilians they had onboard, that resources would be stretched. He saluted and opened the door for her, and she stepped inside.
Surprisingly, Operations was a hive of activity. She had expected it to be quiet, as it had been on previous days, but everything seemed abuzz.
"Report," she said, moving up to Iraj's side.
"We have a contact at the L2 Lagrange point. They're on the other side of the moon, but they're coming around soon. The Washington and the Madrid are moving to investigate."
That surprised her. "An unidentified vessel? Why was I not informed?"
"We tried, but your radio wasn't answering."
She frowned, touching the small device at her hip. Water dripped out of it.
Well.
"Understood," she said. "Has it made any attempt to contact us?"
"None so far, but it's still on the far side of Velsharn's moon. If it has, we wouldn't have received it."
"How long until it's in the open?"
"Twenty minutes, more or less."
She nodded. "Thank you, Kamal," she said, softly, so only he could hear.
"Think nothing of it. I'm just glad you made it."
Iraj had handled the situation well. The Operations room was a well-oiled machine. Jiang was coordinating their strike craft and working with the Washington and the Madrid, Dao was planning intercept routes, and Ling was watching for more contact, even though the ship's radar was severely impaired by being in a valley. Hsin kept trying to hail their contact. Everyone was doing well in her absence.
Well enough that they didn't need her.
Everyone in the military was replaceable, of course. One couldn't operate a ship the size of the Beijing without having the ability for crew to go on leave, or resign, or be killed. This was rarer for the commanding officer, though. There was an old saying: the captain goes down with the ship.
Poetic, but less applied in practice. Most vessels had many COs throughout their lifetime, although the reverse wasn't always true, especially if the previous command was sunk or destroyed—even if the CO wasn't directly to blame.
From a more practical point of view, though, if the captain went down with the ship then both would need to be replaced.
She didn't want to dwell on such things, but as Iraj moved around Operations and the rest of the crew worked as well as she'd ever seen them, she felt vaguely useless.
"The Broadsword Warsong reports that they're rounding the body of Velsharn's moon and should be within radio range of the contact in three minutes."
"Very good," said Iraj. "Mr. Hsin, when the Warsong establishes contact, relay our signal and put it over the long range communications headsets." He put one on, then handed Liao hers. "Captain?"
"Thank you." Liao took the device, slipping it over her head and adjusting the microphone. "Mr. Hsin, relay the communications when ready."
"Aye aye, Captai
n."
The sound that filtered through her headset was distorted and heavily laced with static. "This is Lieutenant First Class Confeld of the TFR Broadsword Warsong to unidentified contact in the Velsharn system. Maintain current orbital profile and identify yourself."
The target did not respond, and Confeld repeated the request. This time, though, a voice answered.
"It warms my heart to hear from you, Human," said the voice she recognised as the Iilan Speaker Paar. "This is Worldship Eight. I am Paar of the Iilan, speaker for this vessel. I request an audience with the Spear of Earth, Wrathbringer Melissa Liao."
"Standby, Worldship Eight."
The line went quiet. This was her invitation to speak.
She couldn't do it. Her finger trembled above the talk key. The last time she engaged with the Iilan, she had boarded their ship, traded with them, and promised them much in exchange for help against Ben. Help they had delivered.
She couldn't help but feel that someone else could have done better.
"Captain?" prompted Iraj. "We shouldn't keep them waiting."
And they shouldn't. Forcing her finger to move, knowing that the Operations crew were watching her, she touched the key. "This is Commander Liao."
Paar's voice changed, becoming a little warmer, less formal. The Iilan were birdlike. She expected squawking, or chirping, but Paar's tone was deep and smooth and continued to surprise her. "Greetings, Commander Liao. Time has elapsed, and we have come to collect on our debt, a bargain made in good faith. We are disappointed that we had to leave the graveyard of our people to find you. More disappointing was it that you were so difficult to track down."
"My apologies, Paar. We had no intention of failing to hold up our end of the bargain, and while it is true that we are in hiding, we are not doing so from you. We have… suffered a grave misfortune."
"If the rogue constructs' forces have defeated you in battle, you have my sincerest apologies, Commander. When we spoke to your forces in the Karathi system, they could tell us little."
Forces in the Karathi system? The only ship in that area was the Sydney, and the Pegasus—one of the Broadswords attached to that ship—had reported it destroyed. She looked to Iraj.