by David Adams
Avaran’s trembling paw reached up and grasped her wrist.
Everyone stared in shock. The paw, burned almost to the bone, squeezed her wrist, and his mouth twitched as though he were trying to spit some dark curse at her from beyond the grave.
Melissa Liao the Kittenclawed, The Butcher of Kor’Vakkar, The Bringer of Terror, Slayer of Varsian the Immortal, Breaker of the Toralii Fleet… screamed like a little girl.
The Marines dropped the pod. It splattered in the mud and began to sink. Their hands went everywhere, some for weapons, some to keep the pod afloat.
Liao tore her hand away in a frenzy of tugging. Avaran, a ghoulish living corpse, mouthed at her, showing blackened teeth. She’d known Toralii could survive wounds no Human ever could, but that was beyond even her wildest imagination. Even Stumpy seemed shocked although it was possible he simply did not know which of his many weapons to draw.
“Captain Liao to Archangel,” she gasped into her radio. “Medical emergency, medical emergency. Land immediately and prepare to load a casualty.”
“Confirmed,” came the calm voice of Medola through the tiny speaker. “Landing. What’s the condition of the casualty, Captain?”
Liao’s heart beat so hard she feared it would jump out of her chest. Her eyes remained fixed on the terrible visage of Avaran, burned to a cinder but somehow still alive. “I could tell you, but you are not going to fucking believe it.”
The Broadsword ride to the Rubens was equal parts awkward and terribly awkward. Liao’s flesh hand would not stop trembling. The cargo hold smelt of burnt Toralii, mud, and sweaty Marines. The medics aboard Archangel had no idea how to treat Avaran. His vocal cords had been damaged, so he could only shoot them wicked looks as they debated just giving him a massive dose of morphine and giving him a release from his pain. In the end, though, he was rushed to the med-bay and loaded with all haste into the green tank Liao had hoped she would never lay eyes on again.
The Marines left, presumably to get drunk enough to forget what they had seen. Liao was left with Saeed, a host of nurses, and Avaran inside the green tank. His eyes were open, staring into nothing.
“How the hell is he still alive?” Saeed asked, his tone completely disbelieving.
“You’re the doctor.” Liao ran her hand through her muddy hair. “Jesus.”
“I’m a doctor for Humans. No patient of mine could survive that. Burns of that level are just not possible to heal, and yet he seems almost stable.”
Impossibilities on top of impossibilities. “Stable?”
“Make no mistake, he’s on the edge of death,” said Saeed. “But he isn’t getting worse.”
She considered. “Wake him up,” Liao said. “I have a question for this arsehole.”
“He’s actually already awake,” said Saeed. “I think. Honestly, at this point, I didn’t want to give him even a mild sedative. He had a modest amount of damage to his vocal tracts, but the fluid might have repaired some of that. He could even speak.”
In one of the battles against the Toralii, Liao had authorised the use of Lucifer’s Gas, a terrible incendiary agent. A postoperation report showed it was horrifyingly effective. The Toralii were more resilient than expected, probably because of their fur burning away before their flesh, so they didn’t even have time to go into shock. They died because the fire burned away all the oxygen. Their skin melted, their muscles melted, and they suffocated to death—not that they could have breathed anyway because their lungs were burned.
It seemed, to her, that only Avaran’s hate was keeping him anchored to the mortal coil.
“Given the frankly quite terrifying experience I’ve just had, I would believe that’s possible.” She stood, straightening her back. “Okay, put me through to him.”
With the push of a button, Saeed did so. Avaran’s eyes flickered, hearing the outside noise for the first time. His pupils searched as though almost blind.
“Good evening,” Liao said.
Avaran’s seared eyes narrowed. His voice was a smoky rasp, barely a whisper. [“L-Liao?”]
“Yes. It’s me.”
[“You have… restored me? For what purpose?”]
“Believe me, we really need the use of that thing, so I’d love for you to actually die and vacate it. Alas, you could expire at any moment, so I have to be brief.” She folded her arms. “I know about the Forerunner in our system.”
The Toralii Alliance used Forerunner probes to scout the locations of distant worlds. Unarmed and used strictly for reconnaissance, the devices would find stable orbits or perform flybys on celestial bodies of interest and jump away to report to their masters when their work was done.
She had no idea if there really was a Forerunner. Knowing the Toralii Alliance, however, it was a reasonable guess.
[“They are… hardly well hidden,”] Avaran said. [“At least, not… by our standards.”]
Liao made a mental note of that. “Or ours.”
[“I am in… pain. Why do you not… simply kill me?”]
“Because I need you for a little bit longer.” Liao took a deep breath. “Tell me what you know about the microtransmissions being sent from our world.”
[“Your… world?”] Avaran laughed, feebly, rough and wet. [“No. Charity from… the Telvan.”]
“Ours now,” said Liao.
Avaran’s dying face twisted into a gruesome smile. [“Not… for long. We have… a contact. In your people. In your… senior staff. He tells… us all. Arranges… deals.”]
Don’t immediately blame Decker-Sheng, she chanted in her mind, a mantra that largely failed to distract her train of thought.
[“Let… me die,”] said Avaran. [“I will… answer no more… questions.”]
“One more,” said Liao. “Then I promise, I’ll do it myself.”
Avaran’s corpse eyes burrowed into her. [“S-speak.”]
“You mentioned deals? Well, I got one for you.” Liao thought of Kkezi. She tapped on the medical console, enabling recording. “The Toralii Alliance has prisoners from Belthas IV. Marines of ours. We want them back. We have prisoners of our own—including your men. They all want to be free. My XO, Commander Iraj, believes that there can be lasting peace between our people in spite of what has happened. I’m not convinced. A prisoner exchange, however, benefits both of us and brings—at least temporarily, in some small measure—a reprieve to the bloodshed. Do you not agree?”
Avaran laughed, a death rattle. And continued to laugh. [“My people… will never agree to such a thing.”]
“As a Warbringer’s dying wish? I think they just might.”
He coughed wetly, and the inside of the mask was stained purple with Toralii blood. [“Just… shoot.”]
“I will,” she promised, “once you talk to the Forerunner and tell them I’m willing to negotiate.”
Avaran shrugged helplessly. [“Time… short. I will forestall the… inevitable back-and-forth argument… and simply agree. Tired.”]
Liao thought as quickly as she could. “The deal is: they send one ship. A scout ship only, the same class as the Knight. We send whatever we want. We give them one prisoner—they give us one. We go first. Proceed until there’s nothing left.” She mentally counted how many prisoners they had. “Let’s start with eight of ours. We’ll give them eight of theirs. Just say that.”
[“I, Warbringer Avaran… do endorse… this arrangement.”] Avaran smiled, a horrible leer distorted by his roasted lips, but somehow cold and indifferent. [“You are… being played… if you believe this will… work.”]
“I know.”
[“The last time… you were being played… and your whole world burned.”] He leaned forward in the tank. [“What will… you lose this time?”]
Liao shrugged. “That’s my concern.”
[“It… will be,”] said Avaran, his words carrying dark promise.
Liao entered a series of commands into the medical console and then touched a small grey button to execute. The pipes plugged into Avara
n’s body vibrated as massive doses of painkillers flooded his body. She watched as the light finally died in his eyes, as the heart rate monitor finally flatlined and there was no more motion in the tank.
The only things left were his words, echoing in her mind.
It will be.
CHAPTER VII
The Night Journey
*****
Medical Bay
TFR Rubens
Orbit of Velsharn
Three hours later
LIAO STAYED WITH SAEED, JUST keeping him company as the nurses disposed of Avaran’s body, but not before making sure he was truly, completely dead.
“Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala likes you,” said Saeed, smiling as he washed various instruments with disinfectant. “He gave you a chance to talk to your enemy yourself.”
“Honestly, I would have preferred not to,” she said. “It was frankly pretty awful.”
“Mmm, I can understand. I spoke to Mrs. Williams earlier… Penny.” He inclined his head. “Fear not, it was not a confidental discussion. She, unlike you, is not accustomed to war and is struggling to adjust. Yet, that woman continues to surprise me. Her skills are surprising, her courage, inspiring. I suspect her faith carries her through the dark times, as does mine.”
Liao rolled her shoulder as Saeed moved on to the heart-rate monitor, rubbing it down with alcohol. She doubted he would ever get the smell of Avaran out. “You realise she’s a Christian, right?”
“Of course. Although sometimes, throughout history, our two faiths have been at war, far more often they have been at peace. Our disagreements can be worked out. Mohammed the Prophet alayhi s-salām declared in a charter that Muslims were to protect Christians until the end of the world. Christians weren’t to be persecuted in Muslim countries and wouldn’t be drafted into the military.
“The words of Mohammed alayhi s-salām are sacred to us. This commandment is one I keep alongside all his commandments. The Christians in the TFR Washington are our brothers, so says Mohammad alayhi s-salām. These Christians may distrust us. They might even hate us. This is irrelevant. The commandment of Mohammad alayhi s-salām was simple: they are to be protected. The Koran even prescribes the way Muslims are instructed to live with Christians, what taxes they pay, and all manner of small details.”
“That’s where the devil lives, I hear.”
Saeed chuckled. “Some might say you’re right. Although Christians and Muslims have their holy books—the Bible and the Koran, respectively—they are different. The Bible is written through the prophets. It is their account of events, the word of God as told by them, interpreted by Humans and therefore subject to error. Second hand. The Koran is not. It is, very literally, the exact words of God. There’s much less room for interpretation. Officially.”
“Officially,” Liao repeated.
Commander Iraj was an openly gay Muslim, something his holy book prohibited. They had discussed it at length. Kamal believed that he was made that way and that to defy Allah’s perfect creation of man was blasphemy.
“Well, it is still Humans who read the books. That is where the errors creep in. The source material, though, according to faith, is pure.”
Liao digested that. “Interesting interpretation. I’ll have to ask Commander Iraj about that next time we have a chance.”
“You could ask him now,” said Saeed. “He is visiting Miss Rowe.”
An interesting idea. Liao needed to get out of there. Smiling her thanks, she wandered to Rowe’s room.
Iraj was sitting in the chair in Rowe’s room, reading to her from a tablet, a book. At first, she expected—possibly because the subject was on her mind—the Koran, but she saw instead it was a fiction.
“Captain,” said Iraj. “Good evening.”
“Evening,” said Liao. “Who’s on duty?”
“Swing shift,” answered Iraj. “Lieutenant Jiang has the CO’s chair.”
Liao approved. “She’ll make a fine CO one day.”
“One day.”
“What are you reading?” she asked.
Rowe laughed. “A fuckin’ porno.”
Of course. Liao narrowed her eyes.
Iraj shrugged. “I told her I would read her anything she wanted. She selected… this, some story of cowboys and forbidden love. The protagonists are quite compelling, and the prose is—” He stopped. Rowe was asleep.
Liao’s concerned glance met Iraj’s.
“She keeps doing that,” he said, by way of explanation. “It is worrying.”
Rowe stirred, eyes flicking open. “Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said. “It is a medical condition.”
She seemed less than impressed. “Yeah, well, it’s fucking pissing me off.”
“It is your jihad,” said Iraj.
“Jihad?” Liao raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that mean, you know…”
Rowe drew a finger across her throat. “Chopping people’s heads off like it’s cool?”
Iraj took Rowe’s words in stride, casually laying the tablet down on her bedside table. “A common misconception. All Muslims are expected to wage jihad. It’s not open warfare. It’s not hacking people’s body parts off when they disagree with you. It is supposed to be a personal, spiritual struggle, a process by which self-improvement comes. Interpretations differ, but that is the mainstream view. When I was a young man, my struggle was coming to terms with my sexuality. As an adult, it is the survival of the Human race.”
Rowe pulled a face. “Aww, man. Don’t say you like boys. You’re too hot to say that.”
Iraj smiled again. “Thank you. That is kind to say. Still, Mister Aharoni may not be pleased to hear you compliment me so.”
“Oh,” said Rowe. “We’re not together anymore. Not for ages.”
Iraj frowned in confusion. “What happened with you and Alex?”
“I told him I needed space. He told me I lived in space. That was funny, but I really did need some.”
“Well… take your time,” Iraj said. “But I did think you were great together.
“You and me would be great together,” Rowe said, to Liao’s chagrin. “I’m just glad you’re not into the head-chopping-off thing.”
“I am not.” His tone was firm. “I believe: live by the sword, die by tetanus. A death in war is not glorious. It’s ignoble, sudden, painful, and you won’t see it coming. War isn’t some heroic duel in the rain to avenge your honour. It’s walking the same fifty-mile patrol route twenty times a day, seven days a week, for a year, and then one day you’re shot in the head for no good reason. The sooner we make peace with the Toralii, the sooner we can get back to living. We can’t bring the dead back to life, but we can continue to live on and honour their memories.”
“Poetic and pragmatic,” said Liao. “There’s the Kamal I know. Although I’m not entirely sold on this ‘make peace with the Toralii’ thing.”
Iraj looked up at her curiously. “What do you expect the final outcome of all this strife to be?”
“Honestly,” said Liao, “I hadn’t given it that much thought. I’d rather get a little bit closer before I think about it.”
“I think it should be at least given some passing effort,” said Iraj. “Our actions today shape the future our children will live in. Even when Earth still stood, there were those who had very warped, twisted views on what they wanted the Human existence to be. I don’t think those people all died on Earth.” He half closed his eyes, recalling something. “When I was a young man, I attended a lecture by a radical cleric. He was genuine, well spoken, western educated… articulate and precise. He advocated, openly and clearly, that taking women as slaves was an acceptable practice after a conquest. Slavery. In the modern era. He wanted a return to the dark ages. I could hardly believe he said those words with a straight face, but I promise you, he did, and most people in the audience agreed.
“Fortunately, life is rarely as simple as the crazy people will make you believe. Islam is a beautiful reli
gion. It is the dogmatic, flag-waving literalists who destroy it, who use it not as a tool for disciplining the self, but one to discipline the world. Instead, I believe that true mastery of one’s fate comes not from screaming at the hurricane to drown it out but from finding a way to live with the noise and find joy in small things.”
“That does sound appealing,” said Liao. “The self-mastery bit. Not the slaves.”
“Mmm.” Iraj settled into his chair. “I like to think of the beauty in it all. Have I told you the story of Sura Al Isra, The Night Journey?”
“No. What is it?”
“One of the stories in the Koran.” He took a breath, as though recalling a long story, and began.
“One calm night in Mecca, one year before the migration to Medina, the Prophet alayhi s-salām was by the great rock, and an angel appeared to him, Jibreel alayhi s-salām. The angel Gabriel.
“Within that chapter, it says, ‘Through difficulty comes ease.’ The year of suffering was one of the worst years of Mohammad’s life. He was set upon on all sides by disbelief, rejection, and the loss of his remaining family. But because of the calamity that had befallen him, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala was merciful and kind, and the following year brought great bounties to him.
“The roof of the house of the Prophet Mohammad alayhi al-salām was opened, and the noble angel Jibreel alayhi s-salām came toward him as he slept.
“Jibreel alayhi s-salām opened the chest of the Prophet Mohammad alayhi s-salām, removed his heart, and washed it with Zamzam water. He then brought a vessel made of gold containing wisdom and faith. He emptied the vessel into the chest of Prophet Mohammad alayhi s-salām and then closed it up.
“Jibreel alayhi s-salām woke the Prophet alayhi s-salām and took him by the hand to the gate of the sacred Ka’bah.
“There the Prophet alayhi s-salām saw a white creature, smaller than a mule, larger than a donkey, with wings on each side of its hind legs, and a Human’s face. It was called the Burak.
