by David Adams
She sat in her seat, trying to digest what she had heard. There were four holes in the universe—the lacuna where jump-drive malfunctions had torn apart worlds, solar systems, and the void—inexorably expanding, never closing, and eventually they would swallow all.
How much more quickly would this process be if there were millions of them?
This was a weapon in the same way a nuclear device on Earth was a weapon. It was mutually assured destruction, but the response would come in years, not hours. It was the slow suicide of their species… of every species.
“Thank you,” she managed.
Ben’s normal voice returned. “Well,” he said, the plugs on his palm squirming as they disconnected themselves and fell limp against the dented side of the drum. “That is something special.”
“Something terrible,” said Liao. “We thought it was a bioweapon. There were only a handful of people who must have known…” She snatched her radio. “Decker-Sheng, this is Liao.”
Static. The ship was still dragging through the atmosphere and well out of range of her puny handheld device.
She switched frequency to the Warsong’s intercom. “This is Liao,” she said tersely. “Put me through to Decker-Sheng. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The ship groaned as it touched down, the metal creaking as it resettled, expanding from the heated reentry. Liao tapped her finger against the plastic of the radio, waiting… waiting.
“This is Decker-Sheng. I can see your bird landing. Is everything all right there, Captain?”
“No,” she said, barely able to keep the anger out of her voice. “Listen, I need you to describe the weapon we’re about to deploy.”
He hesitated, vague and rather unlike him. “I’m not sure to what you are referring to, Captain. It’s a virus. It travels from ship to ship—”
“I know that,” she said. “The mechanism. How does it kill?”
“What does it matter?”
Liao squeezed the radio so hard she feared she might crack it. “Decker-Sheng, I need you to tell me exactly how you think this device kills the Toralii.”
“I’m honestly not sure,” he said. His tone became alarmed. “Captain, are you infected? Our engineers inspected the device. The outer shell is damaged, but the contents should be secure. If there’s been a breach in quarantine, you should return to your ship—”
He was stalling for time. Liao switched off her radio. The opportunity for talking was past.
The Broadsword’s loading ramp lowered. If Decker-Sheng wanted to make his move, it would be in moments.
She wouldn’t give him that chance. Liao extended her prosthetic into the exposed guts of the drum and began grabbing and clawing at anything she could. She crushed components and tore wires, and metal screamed as she smashed it to pieces, crushing each component in her metal fist.
“Is it dead?” she asked Ben.
“As certain as I’m standing here.” He whistled. “Shame. I would have loved to see it in action. So many Toralii corpses… you should have reconsidered, Melissa.”
“Don’t call me that.” She kicked the drum over, and it spilled components in all directions. “Come in,” she said to the Marines. “We have to go shoot another Sheng in the fucking face.” She grimaced, hating herself for saying it. “And bring Ben, too.”
“Why?” asked Ben. “Why exactly am I here anyway?”
Liao fought down the bile in her throat. “You’ll see.”
“Fun,” said Ben, his tone cheery. “I like surprises.”
“You won’t like this one. Move.”
She shoved him forward, and as she did so, the plasma pistol popped out of her wrist, glowing ominously. Liao jumped. She hadn’t intended to activate it.
Ben stared at it. “Okay,” he said, “you’re right. I don’t like this one.”
The weapon’s glow intensified. Liao took a deep breath and forced aside her anger. The weapon retreated, slowly, as though calming as she did.
“Careful,” said Ben. “That thing looks live.”
Liao said nothing and just motioned for Ben to continue walking, trying her very best to keep herself from thinking overly angry thoughts about Decker-Sheng, with limited success.
CHAPTER XII
Phase Three
*****
Operations
TFR Washington
Velsharn L1 Lagrange Point
THE MARINES LED. LIAO FOLLOWED, her pistol out and pressed to Ben’s back. Torchlight was their guide. They passed survivors, wounded, and the dead. Destroyed drone after destroyed drone. The smell of the place rose. A thousand unidentified scents mixed with gunpowder, blood, and sand, a dark, synthetic smell that, while oppressive, was not disgusting but simply alien.
Doubts tore at her.
What was done was done, but her choice to destroy the construct’s datacore gnawed at her. Victory was the ultimate desired outcome. Why hadn’t she taken that opportunity? Six billion Humans lay dead on a tomb world once called Earth. Was it wrong to do the unthinkable to those who treated Human lives with such callousness? Surely the destruction of their fleet and the envelopment of almost every world they inhabited would wreak havoc on their ability to wage war, but what other consequences would there be?
How many ships of other factions, other species, would jump into an area presumed “safe” only to appear inside a singularity? How many worlds would suffer because they did not receive vital trade?
The Toralii Alliance had suffered many losses but proven, clearly and overtly, that they would fight to the end. Why not give them that chance?
Her previous musings about Nazi Germany drifted back to her. Nazism appeared in films, movies, every form of media as the generic bad guys—the name was synonymous with evil. If she had not destroyed the AI, would Humans have assumed that mantle on the global scale?
The truth was, the Toralii Alliance could not be defeated through strength of arms alone. As they marched through the dusty storage facility, following the dim torchlight, Liao knew that their only true hope lay in, somehow, finding some way to live together. Perhaps they could affect political change. Imperial Japan, once brutal and expansionist, was reformed to be an economic powerhouse of Asia, a bastion of democracy and civilization.
It required the destruction of the previous regime, dragging its sins into the light and showing it to be indefensible. Only then could it be replaced with something better.
They arrived at the vault. Just as Decker-Sheng had said, a large imprint of a Toralii hand stood beside a massive door. The metal slab was pitted with holes and burns. Clearly, it would not open to any device they had.
“Captain Liao,” said Decker-Sheng, concern on his face as she approached. “Our communications dropped out. Let’s get this door open and—”
Liao stormed up to the door and stuck her prosthetic into the hand imprint. The door slid into the wall. At the centre of the vault, a small room only six metres by ten, was a cube. Written on the side was a message in Toralii: [Plant Samples, Survey Mission 122,509.4]
“Load that onto the Warsong,” she ordered her Marines. Two of them grasped the cube and, with a grunt, carried it out and down the corridor.
Phase two complete.
“Captain, is everything okay?” asked Decker-Sheng, moving beside her.
Liao turned and jammed her pistol in his face.
A tense silence fell. The Marines stood around uncertainly.
“You have ten seconds,” she said, “to explain to me why I shouldn’t kill myself another Sheng right here and right now.”
He stammered, turning his hands palms outward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liao pulled back the hammer of her pistol. “Not a good answer.”
He slowly raised his hands. “Captain… I’m not sure what’s gotten into you. I’m following Captain Anderson’s orders, your orders, and I think you’re labouring under some delusion that I have betrayed you in some way.”
“Did you see the virus? Did you see inside it?”
Sheng slowly shook his head. “No. I’m not an engineer. Why would I have?”
Liao’s fingers begged to just end him right there, to snuff out the second Sheng who had betrayed his own kind, but something in his tone stopped her, some thread of sincerity. Was she being played?
“Who did?” Liao asked. “Who knew the details of the plan?”
“Captain Anderson took care of it.”
“And he knew what was inside?”
“Of course,” Decker-Sheng said. “It was developed by the US military.”
Slowly, Liao lowered her pistol and reached for her radio.
“Captain Liao to Washington actual,” she said, a dark shiver running up her spine. “Anderson, I need to talk to you.”
After briefest of hesitations, Anderson’s smooth Southern accent came on the line. “This is Anderson.”
“Captain, did you know what was inside the drum we recovered from the wreckage of Scarecrow?”
“A weapon, as I said. A weapon to destroy the Toralii Alliance.” His tone betrayed him. “A contemporary atomic bomb. One we have and they don’t. Something to wipe them off the map.”
She listened and did not speak. She couldn’t. Anderson…
He said nothing, so finally she spoke, voice trembling. “Liar.”
“Let me explain,” said Anderson.
“Oh, fuck you.”
“You see,” he continued, disregarding her outburst. The acoustics of the transmission changed slightly. He had moved into his private office, out of the busy Operations room, surrounded by others. Anderson was alone. “When Scarecrow went down, I was pleased. I never wanted to kill so many. I never wanted the death of so many civilians to be on my conscience.” Sincerity dripped from every word. Liao realised he was holding back from breaking down. “But the Toralii forced our hands. They killed us, Captain. They killed us, and when someone kills you, the only thing you can do is kill them back. Mutually assured destruction won’t work if you don’t.”
“What good is MAD when you pull the trigger?” Her voice was edged. “It’s a deterrent. It’s not a practical solution. You’re not supposed to actually use it.”
“A threat is no use unless you have the strength to follow through.” Anderson coughed into the line, a wet, sickly cough that Liao had not heard before. “You see,” he said, “I’m not going to be around much longer. This way, I take the blame for everything that’s happened. I am the villain the Human race needs. You can tell the Toralii survivors I was acting alone and be completely sincere. That’s why Ben’s there with you, seeing everything, recording everything: to tell them the truth so they can pry open his mind, see what he sees, see that we didn’t plan this and that I acted alone. Not even Wolfe knows. Not Williams, not Decker-Sheng, nobody except me. That is my gift to you, Captain Liao. Plausible deniability.”
“I destroyed the virus,” Liao said. “It’s gone.”
“I anticipated you might peek inside Pandora’s Box,” said Anderson, his tone weary. “You’ve done something very foolish indeed.”
“Have I?” Liao felt the plasma emitter emerging again. She extended her prosthetic fingers, trying to keep her mind off it. “You think I regret saving a billion lives?”
“I think,” said Anderson, “that you soon will.” He breathed in a breath, wet and ragged, that did not have any joy in it. “The Toralii response has arrived. The Madrid is preparing to jump, as is the Washington. I imagine Kamal Iraj and the Beijing will attempt to mount a rescue, but there are eight cruisers, Captain Liao, and our ships cannot face such power. Further, the access codes to this building grant me control of it and its defenders.”
There was a soft whine, echoing all around them. Cries of alarm and the crack of rifles sounded throughout the building.
She looked around for Ben but couldn’t find him. How had he slipped away? It didn’t matter, She had no time to search for him.
The Marine nearest to her grabbed her shoulder. “Captain,” he said, “Samuel O’Hill, Seventy-fifth Rangers. My men outside report that the drones are active again.” He shouldered his rifle and moved to the door, peering down it. Decker-Sheng drew his pistol and moved beside him.
“Anderson reactivated them. What do you have that can take down one of those things?”
The man’s wide-eyed confusion existed for only a moment. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m all out of AP.”
There was only one way. “You would kill your own men?” she said, hissing into the radio.
“No, of course not.” Anderson’s voice became difficult to hear over the gunfire—a staccato beat punctuated by the crackle of energy beams. “Murder is not their directive. The drones are to take you and everyone else alive.”
“Why?” said Liao. The gunfire slowly became more sporadic. The clanking thunder of steel feet echoed down the corridor. “Why not just kill us?”
“Do you not understand?” Anderson’s voice became hard—the hardest she’d ever heard it. “My purpose is not to kill you but to save you. Save us. Save all of us, through the sacrifice we are all making right here, right now. The survivors will call me a traitor. A murderer. They’ll blame me for the Toralii Alliance grabbing you and dragging you off into the dark and tormenting you until you’re dead, but they’ll leave the rest of humanity alone. My men, your men, all will be bartered for in time. But you… no. You will sacrifice more than any one of us. The Toralii will never let go of you. All that anger, that hate, that fury will be vented… and our species can return to its former glory.”
Toralii Alliance prisons. She had seen the terrible work they had done on James, on the other survivors. Cenar was certainly the largest of its kind and the only one that was a space station, but it was not the only prison colony in the Alliance.
“We have a different definition of sacrifice,” she said. “And yours is easily made, standing on a warship in high orbit.”
“I’m sorry,” said Anderson, the sincerity in his tone undeniable. “I wish it could have been me instead.”
A Bevra drone—its weapons charged and ready, splattered with sand and dotted with bullet holes and scorch marks—lumbered into the doorway. With a crackle of energy, it pointed its plasma emitters at her.
Rage. Liao unleashed the anger she’d been holding back, the itch that had tormented her since her prosthetic was attached. Her metal fist clenched so hard the servos whined and the pistons complained and, just as it had before, the metal of her forearm opened and out popped the blue-green tube, glowing with a fierce inner light.
Shoot. She raised the weapon and squeezed her fingers together as hard as she could.
A blue dart of energy lanced from the weapon and struck the drone in the head. Heat filled the room. Metal snap-hissed and evaporated, and the drone’s internals splattered on the wall behind it. The whole room was bathed in the smell of welding and bitter smoke as the creature slumped over, sparks flying in all directions.
“Liao to Beijing, priority alert. Dispatch SAR for immediate retrieval of ground assets.”
Nothing but static. She tried again… and again.
“Come on,” she said to O’Hill. “If we can get out of this building, we can contact the Beijing. They’ll send in Archangel to pick us up.” She raised her voice to a bellow. “Everyone who can hear my voice—head outside of the structure! Now!”
“Let’s go, Captain.” The man’s tone was a mixture of pragmatic levelheadedness and barely concealed fury. He checked his weapon, snapping the safety off. “Stay behind me.”
“I’m right with you,” said Decker-Sheng. Liao drew her Type 9 and handed it to him grip first.
“Here,” she said. “Take this.”
He nodded his gratitude.
O’Hill took the lead. Liao followed behind, hand extended to her right to prevent an accidental discharge. Her anger was key. She had unlocked her prosthetic’s potential before but had backed away. Now she embraced it. Mem
ories and emotions flew through her mind: the searing burn of her flesh as it evaporated, the charred ruin of Earth, the thought of never seeing Allison again.
Her wrist vibrated ominously, threatening to fire again. She turned her thoughts to less violent urges:
Guilt, for letting her suspicions about Decker-Sheng blind her.
Frustration, because she could not reach the Beijing.
Fear.
Boots pounded down the corridor, a rectangle of daylight at the end of the tunnel their salvation. Like a closing mouth, a metal shutter slid down, stealing the light and sealing them in.
“Stand back,” said Liao, aiming her wrist by the glow of her plasma emitter.
Death is painful.
Snap-hiss. The door buckled but did not break.
James will move on and start seeing someone else.
Snap-hiss. Metal scurrying feet picked up behind her. O’Hill’s rifle spoke deafening flashes, firing into the darkness, illuminating the outline of more drones advancing upon them. Every thought of the past year of suffering focused. The heat travelled up her arm, warm as it moved through her metal bones to the skin. She could risk few more shots.
I’ll never see Allison again.
Snap-hiss. The door crumpled and fell to one side, daylight streaming in. She could hear the whine of engines outside, a hovering reactionless drive. A ship cast a shadow on the sand. It had to be the SAR ship. On the other side, standing clear, were Marines. Cheung was amongst them, frantically waving her through.
O’Hill stepped gingerly through the still hole, then Decker-Sheng. Liao fired her plasma emitter down the corridor at the drones as the rest of the Marines poured out.
“Liao to Archangel,” she said, walking backward as she shot, aiming wildly at the corridor full of metal, “report status.”
“Good to see you, Captain,” said Lieutenant Medola into her ear. “The Beijing lost contact with the ground team and figured you could use our help.”
