by David Adams
Cheung nodded her head, exaggerating the gesture slightly so that he could see her suit move. “As you wish, sir.” She moved into the maw of the small vessel, surveying the surroundings. It was dark, and none of the internal lights seemed to be active. Then, with a slight vibration, the ramp began to close. Several bright, white lights flickered as they sprung to life. The door sealed and locked, and all around her Cheung heard the faint hiss of air filling the compartment.
“Permission to remove my helmet, sir?”
Vong shook his head, looking around for a seat. There wasn’t one. “I don’t think we should,” he said. “We don’t know what kind of atmosphere is here, nor what kind of contaminants are in these metals.”
Cheung knew that Ben had full knowledge of what life support requirements Humans had but said nothing. She let her rifle hang by the strap, glancing at her arm-mounted O2 sensor. It was safe for her to remove her helmet, but orders were orders, and it made sense.
She barely felt the ship move at all as it lifted off, turning with barely a hint of momentum. The Toralii version of the reactionless drive that cancelled out the ship’s inertia was clearly more powerful and accurate than their own, even in such an ancient, decrepit ship.
The trip was conducted in silence aside from the faint hissing of air circulating within her suit. With no outside perspective and very little in the way of inertial shifts to give them any kind of direction, it was only when the hatchway began to open with a loud creak-groan that Cheung realised they had arrived.
The shriek of metal-on-metal was loud, even muffled by her suit, and she almost wished Ben had not pressurised the ship so she would not be subjected to the noise. When it finally ended, the ramp striking the deck with a loud clang, Cheung shouldered her rifle and slowly made her way down.
They were inside a place that bore a remarkable similarity to the hangar bay of the Beijing, a wide open space with a high ceiling, packed full of corroded hulks of vessels, some with their landing struts partially buried in the sand that covered the metal deck in large patches. It seemed so odd to find the natural desert joined with the ship, to see it almost entirely indistinguishable from her previous visit when it lay beneath the surface of Karathi.
Waiting for them near the base of the ramp were a number of small, spider-like robotic creatures that Cheung recognised. Bevra defence drones, automated weapons which automatically attacked and destroyed non-Toralii life. Unlike the decaying, rotten corpse of the ship, these robots were chromed and sleek, giant cockroaches with glowing blue eyes and delicate, articulate legs. Two powerful energy weapons were built into their foreclaws. Saara had indicated that they had a range of seven kilometres, something their research had confirmed. A rusted, ruined model from the wreck of the Giralan had been brought aboard the Beijing during their salvage of the ship. The Humans had studied the Bevra drone’s weapons but had not yet been able to successfully reverse engineer it.
They looked at her, their myriad of sensors tracking her movements, but made no attempt to raise their weapons or threaten her in any way. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, she hesitated slightly, then waved for Vong to follow her.
When they both stood shoulder to shoulder, one of the machines stepped forward.
“Follow,” it intoned, a flat, synthetic voice that reeked of the artificial. “The master will see you now.”
Cheung gave a polite nod of her head. “Lead the way.”
Immediately, the machines turned and strode towards a gaping hexagonal exit, their metal legs skittering across the rusted deck as the constructs lead the pair of Humans into the gloom.
The skittering robots, ignoring the sand and the occasional corroded hole in the deck, took Cheung and Vong further into the heart of the ship. There, the corrosion became less intense, and the sand gave way to metal.
It was just as she remembered it, but different. Every now and then, a brand new, shining plate was welded into place over what was obviously a gaping hole. Thick bundles of cables ran along the corners of the corridor, occasionally ducking and weaving through the corridor’s supporting frames, disappearing into the bulkhead to reappear later. Clumps of thin, pale, blue lights flickered along the length of the cable, occasionally pulsing and flickering, casting a strange light along the entire corridor.
“This place is more than a little creepy, sir,” Cheung observed.
Vong nodded in agreement, despite his request to remain professional. She knew that the Commodore was an experienced commander, someone who had seen a great many things over the years, and although she could not see his face, his body language, his defensive posture, told her that he was more than a little apprehensive. Cheung was sure he had never experienced anything like this. No one had.
The robots guided them to a large, open-mouthed staircase that descended down to the next level, then the constructs moved to either side of the entrance. The construct that spoke first gestured down the stairway with a metallic claw.
“I’ll check it first, sir,” she offered, and Vong nodded again. Cheung carefully moved down, her rifle snug up against her shoulder, the barrel pointed down towards the ground.
The stairway lead to a wide open room with a raised ceiling that was covered in computer screens, consoles and electronics. The majority of them, in contrast to the silent, dark screens found dotted throughout the rest of the ship, were active; they displayed innumerable graphics, displays and readouts in the Toralii language, the text scrolling past so fast Cheung had no hope of reading it. The ceiling, braced by struts and supports, was almost completely covered by an image of outside space, a field of untwinkling stars on a sea of black. Judging by the distance they had travelled and the gradual disappearance of the otherwise ever present sand, Cheung knew that this room was deep within the heart of the ship. The roof was no window; it was a full projection, detailed and perfect.
On a raised dais in the centre of the room, the focal point of the entire area, was a large metal chair. Within it sat a metal ball, roughly spherical and similar in appearance to the jump drive on the Beijing but capped in a large, twin-linked turret. A river of cables flowed into the large dais below it, the various threads converging into a giant vein linked into what she presumed was a giant computer, the living heart of the ship.
More of the same Bevra robots scurried around near her, indifferent to her presence, like a swarm of oversized bugs feasting on a corpse.
“It’s clear, Captain,” she called over her shoulder, “more or less.”
She heard Vong’s footsteps behind her, then out of the corner of her eye, saw him move up to her side.
“This must be the ship’s bridge,” Cheung remarked, “but I don’t see Ben.”
“Then,” came a deep, booming voice, “you are not looking hard enough.”
The sphere slowly uncurled revealing six elongated legs, two claws, and a large head, twin blue lights mounted in recessed sockets like a ghostly man peering out of an ancient Greek helmet. Gracefully and delicately, the metal insect rose up on its legs, stretching itself above the ruined chair to an imposing height, the top of his head almost touching the ceiling.
This was a new look for Ben. Cheung knew that the construct could control his ‘body’ remotely, taking and using whatever form he desired, his mind safely housed within a featureless hexagonal datacore. Whereas his previous preferred appearance was a maintenance drone, working futilely and endlessly to repair the destroyed guts of the Giralan, this body seemed much more hostile, aggressive and, most notably, armed. The turret moved independently of the body, swivelling around with a faint whir before sitting still upon his back.
“Good evening, Commander Liao.”
Vong stepped forward, hands by his sides. “Com—”
Ben jerked forward, his eyes flashing a bright cyan, and raised his claws in anger. The turret spun faster than Cheung could see, its twin barrels focused ominously on Vong.
“Liao dares to send a minion in her stead?”
Cheung
raised her rifle and levelled it at Ben, but he either did not notice or did not care.
“Commander Liao is no longer in command of the TFR Beijing,” Commodore Vong offered. “I am Commodore Wei Vong, of the People’s Republic of China. I speak for our people.”
Ben skittered forward, his thin claws grasping the rusted metal of the floor. He moved off the raised dais, claws clacking together eagerly.
“I thought I had expressed myself clearly and was confident that it was not unreasonable to expect that Commander Melissa Liao would be the one to come aboard my vessel to see my triumph. I have no interest in you, nor your people, and you have absolutely nothing you can offer me but your swift departure to fetch Commander Liao so I may converse with her and her alone.” The sky-blue lights that served as Ben’s eyes flared dangerously as he spoke. “Where is she?”
“She is aboard my ship,” Vong admitted. “She has accompanied us as a consultant.”
“A consultant.” Ben’s British accented tone dripped with sardonic mockery. “Commander Liao, the fearless Valkyrie who brought fear to the hearts of the fearless, she who broke the back of Kor’Vakkar and inspired the Kel-Voran to seek alliance with your pitiful race, the slayer, the bringer of death, she whose very name now inspires fear throughout the known galaxy… the Human who dares to defy the most powerful empire this section of the galaxy has ever seen and gets away with it… is now a consultant to some snivelling word-man in way, way over his depth.” Amplified by some unseen source, Ben’s voice suddenly increased in volume as he gave a booming, mocking laugh that echoed as the sound bounced down the empty, hollow corridors of the dead ship. “You waste my time.”
“You speak highly of Commander Liao, but I assure you she is human, Ben, not a God, just a Human who’s doing well for herself, might I add. While she’s no longer the commanding officer, she is now serving in a much—”
“Enough! Return from where you came, then send Commander Liao to me.”
Cheung looked at Vong but was unable to see his face through the reflective visor. She lowered her rifle. If Ben didn’t fear her weapon at all, it was likely utterly useless.
“Very well, Ben. I will return with her.”
Ben slowly raised a claw, pointing it directly at Vong’s face. Her fingers closed around the pistol grip of her rifle, feeling her muscles tense involuntarily, but she kept her weapon down.
“Be advised, Commodore Vong, that machines have a different perspective on time than you Humans do. In the time it takes my audio system to produce a single word, my processors perform billions of operations on thousands of threads of thought. Every second we stand here is an eternity to me, and while I am synthetic and do not age as you do, my patience is not unlimited, and it wears dangerously thin. I will tolerate no duplicity on this matter and expect Commander Liao, and absolutely nobody else, to come to this chamber. If she is not brought before me, wrath beyond your wildest imagination will be visited upon you. Am I absolutely, perfectly clear?”
Commodore Vong straightened his back, hands steady by his sides. “I understand. I will return to my ship, and I will send Commander Liao to you.” The man turned away slightly, as though preparing to leave.
“Only she is permitted to come aboard my vessel,” warned Ben, “a restriction I take extremely seriously.”
“Yes, Commander Liao will not be accompanied. Is that all?”
For a moment Ben said nothing, appearing to stare, motionless, at the pair of them, and then he bobbed his mechanical head with a faint whir. “Go.”
Vong began to walk, motioning for Cheung to follow. She subconsciously moved to stand in front of him, but when she drew shoulder to shoulder with Vong, Ben spoke again.
“Lieutenant Yanmei Cheung?”
With a glance at Vong for permission, which was granted with a subtle nod of his head, Cheung turned to face Ben once again. “Yes?”
“The copy of the Beijing’s records I have in my datacore show that you joined the Beijing’s crew as a Warrant Officer. Is this correct?”
Cheung frowned slightly in confusion, nodding. “Yes, that’s correct. Commander Liao gave me a field commission after I supported her against Sheng’s mutiny.”
The construct traced a digit of his left claw along his chromed chin, drawing a faint metal-on-metal scraping sound as it brushed across the surface. “The records concur with this assessment. So you would say you are a loyal person who dislikes deception?”
Uncertain of how to respond, Cheung merely nodded. “I’d like to think that is so.”
Ben shuffled forward, his metal legs clinking on the raised steps that lead to the broken remains of the chair. “This is excellent. Regrettably, I do not feel that Commodore Vong takes my warning with the gravity it is intended.”
Cheung looked at Vong in confusion, then back to Ben. “Warning?”
“My insistence that Commander Liao is to come alone.”
“Ben, I’m sure he wants to make sure that diplomatic relations are as comfortable as they can possibly be. Why would you think he doesn’t?”
Ben’s eyes glowed a fierce blue, casting a pallid light over the entire bridge. Around him the tiny army of robots turned to face them as one, clicking their claws in anticipation. Cheung subconsciously tightened her grip on her rifle, stealing a glance towards the exit out of the corner of her eye.
“Lieutenant Cheung, I posses a great deal more sensory capability than you humans, and once I discovered it was not her within that suit, I chose to use this capability. I can see each of your frail, fleshy forms through those suits as though they were not even there. When I gave my warning, Commander Vong’s body language shifted slightly. His eyes flicked slightly to the left as he spoke, which indicated that he was accessing the creative section of his brain rather than the logical section. His speech was slightly stilted, slower, outside of the standard deviations for his previously observed vocal patterns when claiming things I could confirm were true, such as when he gave his name. When Commodore Vong answered my question, his fingers drew closer together, signalling a rise in the adrenaline content of his blood; his heart rate increased and the temperature of his skin increased by a quarter of a degree. Further, my neurological pattern analysis confirmed that the synapses in the creative section of his brain, rather than the logical, fact-based sections, were the most active while he answered.”
Cheung heard Vong shuffle uncomfortably beside her, but she kept her gaze on Ben. “So?”
A faint, barely audible hum filled the room. “So,” answered Ben, “to prevent further misunderstandings, I feel I must encourage you to remember how important it is that Liao, and Liao alone, is the next and only Human to set foot on my ship.”
*****
Hangerbay
TFR Beijing
One of the advantages of not being in command was that Liao could be somewhere other than Operations. Protocol had called for Cheung and Vong’s radios to be patched into the Bejing’s systems so they could monitor their progress, but it appeared that Ben took some exception to this. The moment the two had entered the strange, bug-like shuttle in the Beijing’s hangar bay, the communications line returned only static.
She waited, standing in the decompressed open area, arms patiently folded as the minutes ticked away. Soon the sight she expected to see arrived; a faint glint against the starfield as a banking ship caught Belthas’s light and reflected it. Soon the ship, silent and dark, slid into the Beijing’s hangar bay and settled upon the deck. Liao stepped up to the ramp as it lowered, trying her radio.
“Commodore Vong?”
“Vong’s not coming.” Cheung stepped down the ramp, rifle hanging limply on its sash. Her spacesuit was covered in a spray of dark blood, drawing a stark contrast to the otherwise pristine white of the mylar and perspex.
“Cheung?” Liao, knowing that the Operations room was listening in, spoke to them. “Medical emergency in the hangar bay, Cheung’s suit breached!”
Liao stepped forward, grabbin
g hold of Cheung’s shoulders and looking her over, searching for where she had been wounded.
Cheung held up her blood-splattered hands. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice quivering slightly over the radio. “It’s not me.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Vong’s dead,” Cheung said simply, “and Ben is mad, furious even, insane. Even more so than the last time we saw him. He wants to see you, and only you, right now.”
Liao felt her chest tighten. “Vong’s dead? Are you sure?”
Cheung’s tone wavered slightly. “Very.”
Hesitating, then giving a firm nod, Liao moved past her, moving up the ramp.
“Good luck, Captain,” Cheung said, turning to face her, looking up to her as she stood at the bottom of the ramp.
“I’m not the captain anymore,” Liao replied. “You know that.”
The ramp began to rise. From behind Cheung’s blood-splattered form, Liao could see suited figures bearing the red cross of the medical team running out to meet them.
Cheung seemed to hesitate as though about to argue the point, but instead, she just unslung her rifle and let it drop to the floor. “Don’t lie to him,” she said, and then the door sealed, and Liao could hear nothing but the faint hiss of static as the ship lifted off the deck.
Chapter VIII
“Plan B”
*****
Hangerbay
Inside the Giralan
Stepping out of the tiny shuttle into the vast hangar bay, Liao moved over to the airlock. She watched her wrist mounted oxygen indicator with a wary eye, but the tiny LED glowed a bright green as the last of the air filled the airlock to the hangar bay. She reached up and unclipped her helmet, sliding it off her head.
The air in the tiny shuttle was dry, cool and surprisingly earthy, even though the soil that dotted the floor of the airlock was more sand than soil. Liao cast a wary eye at some of the patches made on the metal hull, given the ship’s composition, but eventually put her concerns beside her. Ben had been fixing the Giralan for many years and knew his craft well.
