by Adams, David
So much was going on in Operations that Liao tried to screen out the least important conversations and focus on critical matters. Her ears found a conversation between Iraj and Jiang. "Sir," Jiang said, "no go on the Broadsword launch. The hangar bay crew reports that the hangar is full of people. They can't decompress it."
"That's going to be a problem," said Iraj. "Tell them to move as many people as they can to the upper decks—it'll get crowded, but we need to deploy those Broadswords, and we might need to do it in a hurry. I know the hangar bay's a big place, and we need that space for people, but our strike group are a big asset for us right now."
"Agreed," said Liao. "But get some crew, anyone, to distribute some water and supplies to those people. Make sure they don't panic or get dehydrated and do something stupid."
Iraj nodded. "I'll see to it," he promised, and Liao let him work.
"Mr. Hsin," she said, pulling on her long-range headset. "Put me through to the Washington."
Within moments, Anderson's southern accent filled her ears. "Beijing actual, this is Washington actual. Good to hear from you."
"It's good to hear from you, too," she said. "We didn't think we were going to make it for a bit."
"We have a ship-load of civilians who aren't dealing with the change in circumstances too well. I assume the Madrid is in a similar situation. Break." Anderson spoke to someone on the other end of the line. He left the mic open, possibly out of respect to Liao, although the conversation was too low and too accented for her to make out. "Apologies, Captain Liao, there's been a development."
"Good news or bad?"
"Unclear. I ordered a headcount of the survivors on board. We've taken on a little more than we anticipated. We're going to need to start offloading these people if we want to get combat effective."
"We've got similar problems," said Liao, "but frankly, the more Human beings we can save at this point, the better."
"Suggestions?"
"Let's start shuttling people down to the surface. We have six Broadswords in our inventory, although some are damaged, and one is earmarked for relaying our situation to the Belthas system."
"Glad you're taking care of that," Anderson said. "Our hangar bay is full of people."
"As is ours, but we're in the process of fixing it."
"Hopefully not by venting them into space."
Normally she would find such a joke funny, but not today. "No."
"Very good, then. We'll work on freeing our hangar bay too. When our birds can launch, we can start loading people from various airlocks on the sides of the ship."
"Good plan," she said. "We'll do the same. Make sure the civilians get plenty of water. They're crammed in there pretty good, and the ship's going to get awfully hot."
"Agreed, I was going to say the same thing."
"Then let's get to it. Pick out an island, and we'll meet you there. Liao out."
She took off her headset and looked at the damage control screen on her console. Red circles—hull breaches—pockmarked so many areas of her ship. Others were yellow, areas where the weakened hull had begun to ablate away. Spiderwebs of yellow ran throughout the superstructure, revealing for the first time just how badly damaged the ship was. They might not be able to charge the hull with so much damage.
Her ship was dying.
A light flashed on her internal thermal readout. The hangar bay doors were opening; Jiang had managed, somehow, to clear the hangar bay. The ship launched one of their Broadswords. Liao watched it go, unable to shake the feeling of guilt that settled into her stomach for the first time. That ship was going to tell James what had happened to Earth, happened to all of them, and relay the most dire information any Human being had ever been told.
And it was her fault.
"You okay?" asked Iraj, his voice low so only she could hear.
She couldn't tell the truth, so a gentle lie would suffice for now. "I don't know yet." She straightened her back. "Get me a headcount of the survivors, and then let's start shuttling these people down to the surface."
"I was thinking about that," said Iraj. "Did you want to land the Beijing on the surface?"
Land the entire ship again? They'd done that on Earth, but with the amount of damage he'd received, Liao was reluctant. "Seems risky, twice in one day. What if we can't take off again?"
"That's a problem for the future," said Iraj. "We need to get these people some fresh air, some space, or we're going to start losing them. It's a risk, yes, but if the Toralii Alliance comes around, our chances of hiding are much better on the surface than in space."
That was a point. A planet was a big place, even one mostly covered in water like Velsharn.
"Also," Iraj continued, "it would also allow us to set up a base of operations and have shelter and a rallying point for all these civilians. The ship has energy, supplies, environmental controls; it's a much better solution than just dumping them out in the open with a handful of tents and good wishes."
She nodded along as he spoke. "I think I like this plan."
Isle 301, southern Velsharn
The Beijing touched down on one of the southern islands, the 301st surveyed by the Madrid, nestled in a valley between two sets of mountain ranges. It was a wooded area, with tall yellowish trees too bushy and distinctly alien to her, but it was safe and secure. On the other side of the mountains, the land became more tropical and then it gave way to a beach.
The civilians spilled out like a broken can of beans. Liao, watching them through the ship's external cameras, couldn't believe the crew had crammed in as many as they had. The civilians stumbled, covered in sweat, into the cool salty air, their relief palpable. Their stay aboard her ship had not been pleasant.
A work detail was organised, comprised of marines and civilian volunteers, to clear landing areas for the Broadswords. Cheung broke the group up into task groups and set them to work. Jiang and Dao coordinated with the vessels in orbit, and soon Broadswords from the other Pillars started falling through the atmosphere, a dozen shooting stars that flamed out and turned into ships, dropping more people off into the area near the Beijing.
Liao left Iraj in charge of the ship and went to survey their new home, two marines falling into step with her. She left through the hangar, which Rowe had opened to permit exit to all the civilians, and walked down the metal deck. The place was just as she had left it.
The woods were full of birds, the sound a chorus despite the confusion of the ship landing in the area. The sky above was a strange blue-purple colour, and overhead one of Velsharn's moons drifted between patches of cloud. It was evening, and the air was cool and sweet.
It almost could have been Earth, almost. Yet she felt no joy at seeing it.
As she stood there, taking in the view of the sky and the second wave of Broadswords streaking across it, a man approached her. One of the civilians. He was middle aged, heavyset, with huge hands and stringy brown hair. Her marines stopped him, but she gestured for them to move away.
"You're Commander Liao, right? I recognise you from the news."
"Yes. That's me."
He extended his hand. "I'm Alistair Shepherd. I'm a retired police officer. I just wanted to thank you for pulling us off-world back there."
Liao took it, giving a firm shake. "A pleasure, Alistair."
"Where are we?"
"This is Velsharn. A planet within Telvan space. I've been here before."
He looked around, then up. "I thought as much. We knew the Pillars crew had been to other worlds, but… the specifics weren't clear. The news didn't really tell us much." He pointed upward. "The sky's weird."
"Get used to it," she said with a smile. "There's a good chance we'll be here for some time."
Shepherd glanced at her. "We're not going home?"
Of course. They couldn't know, being inside a ship the whole time. They might have suspected, perhaps, but it all happened so fast…
"No. There's not much left of Earth, I'm afraid. Just a burned
out husk, from what we saw from orbit. The storms you experienced weren't localised. In fact, Houston was one of the last areas to be truly affected by the worst of it. By now, though, it's the same as the rest of the planet; scalded and uninhabitable."
His shoulders sank, and Liao knew she should feel pity for him. Instead, all she could manage was a strange sense of detachment.
"Thank you for telling me," he said, and then wandered off. He seemed to be in a daze, shocked by how quickly he'd been taken here. Liao let him go without comment.
Crowds of people milled around, but no others approached her. Their eyes were elsewhere; on the ground, on the sky, on the strange flora and the mountains on all sides of the valley.
It was good to get away, to have a moment to herself. It was the first time she had done so since the battle at Belthas IV. How many hours ago had that been? Had they had a shift change yet? The details of it all seemed fuzzy.
Liao shrugged off her jacket, folding it under her arm, and then slipped into the crowd. She wasn't trying to hide, but she didn't want to be found. A subtle difference in her mind. The further away she got from Operations, the further away she was from the things she had seen there and the less real they felt.
The people around her were dirty, confused, listless. Liao weaved through them easily, walking nowhere, until the crowd began to thin out. At the edge of the sea of people, something caught her attention.
A damaged, detached gun turret from a Broadsword, turned upside down in the dirt, converted into a latrine. Four fire blankets were hung up on metal struts to give a modicum of privacy. A short queue of people waited to use it; further down was another, and another. Drag marks in the dirt lead from the hangar bay.
The smell was strong, but the wind was taking it away from the ship and the people. Cheung had done good work.
The first seemed half-full. It couldn't be emptied. It was too large to move far without a team, but a metal pole, a set of thick leather gloves, a box of matches and yellow jerrycan stood nearby. She had seen similar things in basic.
Yellow cans were for diesel fuel. Disposal of improvised latrines was best accomplished by burning, a horrible but necessary job usually employed as a punishment. But this one had not been burnt, and the reason was clear: no marines were nearby, and the civilians wouldn't know what to do.
So it was up to her. Liao folded her jacket and hung it over the cloth, pulled on the gloves, then—with a pained grunt and a strain of her arms—pulled the broken turret out from under the cloth. She flipped the cam lever release, lifted the can, and poured fluid in.
The smell of the latrine and the diesel hit her at the same time. It smelt like Satan cooking breakfast; a sulphurous, thick, synthetic smell mixed with the stench of fecal matter. It made her gag.
She kept at it, though. This was something practical she could do.
Liao poured in six or seven gallons then stopped. Her arms ached from the effort, and she moved away to give herself some fresh air.
She had a moment to rest, but it wasn't to last. Cheung, still wearing her suit and helmet, strode up to her. Liao recognised her from her rank markings.
"Captain," she said, "a word?"
"Certainly. Go ahead."
Cheung popped her helmet off with a hiss, shaking out her short hair. "Second wave of Broadswords should be done entering atmo' in three or four minutes. You can hear the sonic booms if you try."
"Good," said Liao. "I'm sure that comes as a huge relief to those still aboard the Pillars. They're cramped enough as it is."
"Well, that's true enough, but I wanted to talk to you about what to do when they get here." Cheung narrowed her eyes curiously. "What are you doing out here, Captain?"
"Burning a turret full of shit."
"That was what I'm here to do. Are you sure you don't want me to handle that?"
"I started it," said Liao, "might as well finish it."
"Not going to fight you on that one." Cheung turned to the Beijing, its superstructure rising above the woods. "But yes. We didn't exactly hand-pick these people. We don't know what skills they have, and even if we did, we have no system of law and order. No organisation. We're not a bunch of young, fit colonists with skills and dreams of a new life in a strange land—we're just tens of thousands of people, plucked literally off the street and taken to an alien world. And every ship landed in a different part of the world. We're going to have problems in the future if we don't sort out some ground rules right now, like what legal system we have or whose political system we're going to adopt. It's not enough to just toss them off the ship and expect everyone to get along. I expect our citizens will be happy with military government, obviously, but the Americans will want elected civilian leadership. That's something we can't give them right now."
"To be honest," Liao said, "I'm more concerned with how we're going to feed them all. Where they're going to defecate. Shelter. Qadan mentioned that storms can sometimes hit these islands, fast and powerful."
The memory of her Toralii friend, roasted to a crisp by the Beijing's missiles, stirred emotion in her, but she forced it away. She had no time to worry about the mistakes of the past when the mistakes of her present were so clearly staring her in the face.
So many doubts, all swept under the rug in the face of the destruction of Earth. She didn't have time to worry about that now. People needed her.
The memories were too much. She beckoned Cheung to follow her back to the latrine. She did so but wisely clipped on her helmet. Liao was envious.
"Food is going to be a problem," said Cheung, her voice thin and muffled, "but the Beijing's stores will last for now. I'd be more concerned about fresh water. It's going to take a lot of work to get things habitable here. We don't have much."
Liao struck a match, flicking it into the latrine. The diesel ignited, flames licking at the edge of the turret, and the smell intensified. "Things are going to be difficult. Some of these civilians have never done a day's hard labour in their lives, but for the moment, that's what we need. I think our short-term priorities should be water, shelter, tools, food. In that order." Liao reached for the metal pole and began stirring, keeping her head away from the smell. She could barely talk. "Thoughts?"
Cheung had her answer ready immediately. "The nearby river is our best bet for water. We chose this site for a reason, after all. Do our washing, urination and defecation downstream, drink from upstream. Limit water use to drinking, cooking and bathing, along with washing clothes. Hygiene is a problem. These latrines are only a temporary measure. If we have a disease outbreak here, it's going to be catastrophic. We can't afford to lose anyone, especially to something we can prevent."
"Agreed. Sounds like you have more to say, though."
"We have at least thirty-two bodies that require immediate burial, not including any we might discover in the ship's hull. Not everyone was physically capable of being trapped in the ship for hours, and plenty of civilians were injured in the evacuation. Some may not make it. Speaking of corpses, you know as well as I do that even the nights here are humid and hot, Captain. If those bodies remain above ground, they are going to be a huge vector for disease very soon. Fortunately, our morgue is empty, but... well, that's a small mercy. A standard grave is, say, two metres deep, two point five long and one and a half wide. In this soil, I reckon—ballpark figures—two strong, able-bodied people digging is going to take a good five hours. If we up that to four, we could probably get it done in three which, given the climate here, we're going to have to do."
"Okay," said Liao, stirring in the other direction as the flames consumed the fuel and a dark black cloud wafted out over the tree line. "Go on."
"We're going to need all the bodies buried within twenty-four hours, and digging a grave is hard work. I estimate that each team will only be able to dig two before requiring rest. That's six hours straight... no breaks. It's no picnic. So we're going to need sixteen teams of four people, which means I need sixty-four strong, committed people o
n grave detail for today."
The wind changed, and Liao stepped to a different side to avoid the cloud. Even so, her arms were stained black by the smoke. "I hate to sound morbid, but can't we burn the bodies?"
"Cremation is an alternative, but only mass-cremation. It's too much work otherwise. In any event, to fully burn a humanoid body takes one tonne of wood or similar material, which we just don't have on hand. We could harvest from the local woodlands, of course, but that's more labour, and it's delaying the cremation significantly. Further, the civilians might object. Keeping the remains separated will be an issue, which obviously is a measure of last resort. And I mean… that smells, Captain. Pretty awful."
"Worse than this?"
"Different, but probably the same."
"Great." Problem after problem. "Any other options?"
"Fortunately, yes. I was thinking we use the Broadsword to shuttle any and all corpses into the ocean and give them a burial at sea."
"Works for me. We can put up gravestone markers at a later date." Liao withdrew the pole, letting the fire burn, and stepped away. Cheung remained. "There's more, isn't there?"
"Yes. I'm afraid it gets worse, Captain."
"How do you know all this stuff?"
Cheung smiled. "I almost enlisted in logistics, but I found weapons more fun."
"Useful." Liao tried wiping some of the stains off her arms, to no avail. "Please, continue."
"Right. The bodies aren't our only sanitation problems. As my mother told me as a kid… everybody poops. We're going to need more latrines, and we don't have any more broken turrets. We should dig trenches downhill from the landing site and away from our water supplies. A standard latrine is one and a half metres deep and half a metre wide, assuming we can build up the sides with rocks, logs, and evacuated soil. We can lash some logs together, cut a hole in the middle for a cover, and use some of the detached bulkheads to make walls for odour control, disease minimisation and—heaven forbid—some privacy. Don't count on much of that, however.
