by Adams, David
Two hours into her shift, the communications console lit up.
"Captain," said Hsin, "the Broadsword Archangel is hailing us. They want to know if the Switchblade made the jump."
Medola had returned. "Let me speak to her." Liao slipped the headset over her head. "Archangel, this is Beijing actual. Switchblade arrived earlier. Report."
"We made it." Medola's voice held no triumph, no victory. She sounded intensely weary. "One of the passengers from the Farsight died of her wounds en-route. The body was buried in space." An unspoken accusation lingered in Medola's voice. Liao did not know, exactly, what it was, but it was present.
"Understood, Archangel. The Washington will give you and the Switchblade landing telemetry."
"Confirmed." Medola left the line open.
Liao waited. "Is there something else, Captain Medola?"
"It's not Captain. It's Lieutenant."
Of course. Medola was still a Lieutenant First Class. The memory of her promise to Medola—save the crew of the Farsight, earn a promotion to Captain—was something she wasn't prepared for. Most of the Farsight crew, along with their passengers, hadn't escaped.
Medola's voice turned icy, constrained anger suddenly released. "You said I'd make Captain if I saved the Farsight. Well, it's resting at the bottom of the Atlantic right now, so fuck you, Commander. You murdered them. Good job."
Liao went to answer, but the transmission abruptly ended. Not that anything she said would have helped. It seemed heartless to deny her a promotion based on those criteria, but it also seemed… wrong, in some way, to grant it anyway. As though it were cheapening her efforts.
She awkwardly removed the headset. "Help the Washington guide them in," she said to Hsin, unable to look at anyone.
She still had time left on her shift, but suddenly she couldn't stay here. She needed something to take her away from Operations, and as she flicked through the messages on her console, one stood out to her that would serve nicely.
"Mr. Iraj, can you cover the rest of this shift? Jul'aran wants to see me on a matter of some urgency."
"Of course," said Iraj, far too easily for her liking. It should not be this easy to escape her duty.
But she was grateful.
She met Jul'aran outside her quarters. The tired-looking Toralii seemed pleased to see her and translated her words through one of their few tablets.
"Please come in," she said.
["Thank you for seeing me regarding this matter, Liao, and at such a late hour."]
Was it late? She had completely lost track of time. "It's not a concern." She sat in her chair, gesturing for him to sit as well. "What can I do for you?"
["I've communicated with the Forerunner probe in this system. I've ordered it to jump away and relay a message to the central Telvan government explaining the situation."] Jul'aran's tone became bitter. ["I have requested a formal refugee program be drawn up and enacted, so that the Human race would be given limited sovereignty over Velsharn, existing as a Telvan protectorate."]
"That sounds like good news," said Liao, "from my perspective."
["Agreed. Unfortunately, the Telvan survivors of Belthas IV have been given leave to stay or relocate as they wish. The transportation process will begin in the current months; Kel-Voran pirates are keeping many of our fleet assets engaged at the present time."]
She tilted her head. "I don't see this as a problem. I would expect those who wish to leave would not be compelled to remain."
Jul'aran shuffled in his chair, crossing his large paws, and Liao was uncomfortably reminded of the large claws that remained sheathed within. ["Liberty is an important virtue, Commander, but the Telvan treasure the community. Many will choose to go. I would have preferred us to remain as one rather than disperse across the galaxy."]
"Understood. I do not wish to impose our moral code on you."
["We are different,"] Jul'aran admitted. ["But I feel that the Belthas IV survivors could well make a home here."]
"I'm honoured you think that."
Jul'aran rolled his shoulders. ["It is... frustrating. We all sacrificed so much against the construct Ben and yet, our world was consumed. Perhaps we were better off letting him rule us."]
"I think you would have eventually regretted that." Liao leaned forward in her chair. "Humans learnt many, many years ago that, often, death was preferable to submitting to tyranny. Too bad that lesson was learnt far too late."
Jul'aran smiled, a wide smile full of teeth. ["Perhaps we have more to learn from each other still."]
"Perhaps. Are you sure your people would not consider staying? We would welcome your company as well as your technical expertise."
["When the transports come, we will decide. I will implore my people to remain, but Liao-tor's scar has wounded us more than I anticipated possible."]
She wasn't sure on the pronunciation, but the phonetics bore an eerie similarity to her own name. "Liao-tor?"
["Of course,"] said Jul'aran, the confusion clear on his face. ["That is what we call the singularity that consumed Belthas IV. The one you created during the battle."]
She stiffened, straightening her back. "You blame me?"
He held up his paws. ["No, Commander. The singularities are named after their creators. The singularity that devoured Evarel was named after the Leader of that vessel. It is tradition."]
The revelation was incredibly hurtful to her. "The singularities persist eternally. They never close. You wish that to be my legacy? Named for an anomaly of infinite destruction?"
["Captain... it is just a name."]
Names had power. Liao wanted to reject that assertion, force him to change the name, but she knew it would stick. Names tended to. This was not something that was going to happen; it had already happened.
All she could do was get used to it.
"Well," she said, "thank you for your time."
Jul'aran stood. ["Thank you for seeing me, Captain. I am sorry if I offended you."]
She forced a smile, shook his hand, and then escorted him out. Now her quarters were quiet and solitary, and her tablet was overflowing with messages. Work that needed doing. She started skimming through them.
One of her junior officers contacted her directly with a proposal to help ease some of their logistical strain. Fishing.
Apparently, Medola had gone straight from her landing to volunteering for a fishing detail. It had been Dao's idea: the Broadswords would fly out to the ocean and drop bait, followed by explosives, to harvest fish. They couldn't last forever on the ship's re-hydrated stocks. The proposal was interesting based on the projected yields. Between the Broadsword's fishing efforts, organised gathering expeditions into the nearby wild growth, and careful management of their remaining stocks, along with careful administration run by trained professionals, a logistical nightmare would probably be averted.
Another note, sent through by Summer, indicated that initial surveys by the Iilan constructs showed the nearby mountains were rich in minerals. Her message was full of speculation, especially the possibility that, sooner than they anticipated, a mining operation might be established. With a little luck, it could even be expanded to the surrounding asteroids that populated the system's thick asteroid belt. Her plan of making more Broadswords was closer than they had thought, although the design might have to be modified since they no longer had access to certain materials such as rubber.
It might also require some manual labour, too. This was good. They needed industry, something for people to do. So far, all their efforts had been spent towards simple survival, trying not to die as they waited for the Alliance to return and finish them all. Despite the constant patrols, everyone lived in a state of perpetual alert.
The people didn't know about the Toralii Alliance scout their CAP had destroyed. The less said about that, the better.
She continued scrolling. A note from Captain Anderson. Apparently a baby had been born. The first Human born off world, but not the last. The daughter of a p
regnant woman evacuated on the Washington. They called her Wei, although many of the English speaking population called her Eve instead.
Eden. Eve.
Liao forced herself to be strong enough to read every word of the message. There would be many such things in the future, including amongst the civilians who lived on her ship. It was inevitable, and she would one day have to play the same role Anderson had. People looked up for her. They expected her to lead.
But while endless administration, organisation, and delegation filled her days, her nights were full of tears.
She felt vaguely ill. Closing the tablet, she visited the small bathroom in her office. On a random impulse, she stood on the scales.
Liao had lost twenty kilos. She wondered if people had noticed. She had subconsciously tightened her belt and adjusted her sleeves, never concerned with such things. Every day had been the same; an endless series of tasks before her, each completed in a grim, robotic daze.
The pistol underneath the pile of paper on her desk called to her.
She fought the urge and instead went back to the messages. Most were uninteresting. The ship landed on the ground made routine maintenance much more difficult. The mud of the place was swallowing it up. There was talk of having to lift off and reposition the ship so that it could remain aloft or allocating some power to the reactionless drives to reduce its weight. Rowe's report was, of course, overly comprehensive to the point of inanity.
Reading was good, though. It distracted her.
She continued well into the night, and then dragged herself back to her quarters to sleep. This time sheer exhaustion won out. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep, the light in her bedroom left on, insects buzzing around the bulb.
CHAPTER VII
Sweet Misery
*****
Eden
Velsharn system
LIAO BARELY REMEMBERED WAKING UP and showering, her body covered in insect bites, but she found herself back in her office—the exact place she didn't want to go. Not with her Type 9 stuffed under all those papers.
It would be okay, though. Although she was still miserable, she didn't have the heart to do it. Not after what had happened. Given the circumstances, Liao considered deleting her report, but it did contain a lot of valuable information. She edited some parts, mostly for curse words and exaggerations, the sense of guilt growing with each edit.
Fortunately, James visited her, interrupting her growing desire to incinerate the whole thing.
"Hey you," he said, smiling as he pushed open her door. "Get much sleep?"
She hadn't, the insects had seen to that, but a white lie would save some face. "A bit," she said, "but not much."
James's disappointment was clear, but he at least tried to hide it. "Okay, well, that's something at least."
Soon, she promised herself. Soon I can sleep properly.
"Hey," said James, reaching up and touching her forehead. "What happened to your hair?"
Liao recoiled away from the touch. She concealed the gesture byadjusting her cap. "I... thought it best to cut it."
"Really?" James smiled. "It doesn't look half bad."
"Thanks," she said, trying to change the subject. "Sorry. I was just working."
"On what?" James craned his neck. "Something for the Tehran?"
Liao didn't want to let him see it, not like this, but accepted she had no way to hide it now. She didn't want to tell James that she'd written the whole thing in one go, so stretched the truth. "Just a report I've been working on. It's a… frank introspection of our involvement with the interstellar community, along with a catalogue of the decisions that led us to this point. Written as a stream-of-consciousness, honest, brutal assessment of everything that has happened to us so far."
"I like it," said James. He reached for the document, but Liao put her hand over it.
"It's not finished."
"Well, lemme read it when it's done."
"Of course." Desperate for another change in topic, Liao motioned for James to take a seat. "So, what brings you to my fortress of solitude?"
"Sounds like something Summer would say." He pulled out one of her chairs and eased himself into it. "Eh. I'm just trying to sort out what's going to happen now that the Tehran crew has arrived."
"How do you mean?"
James pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Just the little things, really. Like making sure that everything gets done and done on time, and to the proper standards."
Liao frowned. "There's a discipline problem on the Tehran?"
"Yes and no. It's complicated. You know how hard it is to operate with an Iranian crew? There's a huge, fundamental difference between Western militaries and Persian militaries. There's an ingrained cultural divide between the officers and the enlisted that borders on a caste system—they don't even talk, really. They do things that we would consider totally abhorrent, that would end in a dishonourable discharge in any western service." James put his elbow on Liao's desk, as though the force of retelling the story might cause him to slump over in aggravation. "Wanna hear something Sabeen told me when these problems started to make themselves known? She told me that when she was in training, they had some exercise out east, near the Afghani border. The wind was blowing really hard, and it was disturbing the officers' meals, so they had their enlisted men lock arms and stand in the way. They literally used their men as windbreaks, Melissa. Fucking Jesus."
James took a breath, shaking his head. "And that's not even it. After they were done, the bus that was supposed to transport them all back to base broke down, so senior officers just called a pair of cabs—on the military's dime—and used them to get themselves home, leaving the enlisted crewmen behind in the desert, hundreds of kilometres away from their base. They had to hitchhike back. There's a reason why military service is usually avoided at all costs, including self-mutilation, but those who end up serving just accept whatever's been dealt to them. They're fatalists. They just accept that whatever happens is the will of Allah, which makes things like safety and maintenance hard. Why bother fixing it when Allah's going to come along and make everything okay in the end anyway?
"My crew's a little better than most of the fuck-ups in the Iranian armed forces, but only because I'm in command, and because they're the best Iran could offer. The prestige of serving in space was a big lure for them. Even so… we're the best that the Iranians have, the elites, but our logistic network is heavily reliant on the EU and the Chinese. That means that when a part goes out, when we need basic services like replacement crew, food, or fuel, we need to talk to the EU and then they talk to the Iranians, who fob it off to the Chinese who rip it off the Americans. Repeat this back along the chain until it gets to us. It's a nightmare. I have no idea how we're going to cope now that whole network is gone. The ship's probably falling apart as we speak."
He looked directly at Liao. "Hey, are you listening?"
Liao didn't know how to answer. "Yeah," she said eventually, "I was listening. I was just… having a lot of trouble processing what you're telling me."
"Are you okay?" James frowned in concern.
"I guess. I just… I was reading a bunch of things before." She gestured to the pile of documents on her desk. "Reports from all over the ship. We have a severe roach infestation in the lower decks of the Beijing."
"Roaches? You mean some kind of indigenous life form?"
"Nope, standard Earth roaches."
"How the fuck did roaches get on board?"
"No idea. They must have been here since Earth, just much less prevalent. It seems like the warmer air and humid climate are good to them."
James just chuckled. "Roaches really can survive apocalypse."
"Yeah." There really wasn't much more she could say. "Roaches, huh."
"Yeah."
James and Liao shared an awkward pause and then James coughed. "Oh, there was one thing. I wanted to discuss the new CAP routes with you. I wanted to pull more ships from the Tehran
to reinforce our numbers. We took down that scout, but it's inevitable that the Toralii are going to come looking for their missing ship. We should consider looking at ways to fortify the system."
Liao had no interest in that at all. "We should consider leaving."
"Leaving?"
"Leaving this planet. Leaving this system. Going somewhere the Alliance can't find us, not hiding behind the Telvan. We can't fight the Toralii Alliance. We are a broken species. Combat ineffective. If the Alliance shows up tomorrow, we can offer no meaningful resistance." She let her hands flop down by her sides. "The war is over, James. We lost."
His expression was sombre, and he was seemingly unable to refute what she was telling him. "I know. But while we've got people to protect, we keep fighting. That's the rules." He smiled. "Let me see that report on the roaches. We have a stockpile of nerve gas on the Tehran. We might be able to put some of it to good use."
"Sure," she said, but immediately regretted opening her mouth.
James reached over and picked up a handful of documents. Liao's handgun slid out, clattering onto her desk.
"Jesus." He picked it up and stared at it. He thumbed the magazine release then pulled back the slide, and a round slid out. "Live round in the chamber, safety's off. Did you just leave this here?"
She didn't know what to say. "James, I—"
"No." James gritted his teeth. "You'd never just leave your handgun out, certainly not like this." He turned the weapon over and over in his hands, inspecting every side of it. "This is something you did deliberately, isn't it?"
"James…"
"There are no assassins. No security issues. You don't even have marines posted at your door. There's only one reason that you'd leave a loaded firearm within arm's reach, without even a safety catch to prevent negligent discharges." He glared at her. "Isn't there?"
She struggled to find a good lie, something that might convince James his suspicions were wrong.
But she couldn't, so she just took off her cap.