Lacuna: The Prelude to Eternity (23 page)

Cheung inclined her head thoughtfully. “Sure, Captain. I definitely will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Liao asked one more time. “And you’re going to be okay?”

Cheung locked eyes with her and, tone serious, stood up. “Yes, Captain. I promise.”

Liao wasn’t sure if Cheung was fine. It was okay to not be one hundred percent—after something like that, it would be odd if someone
was
—but, at the very least, Liao knew Cheung would recover. She was strong.

Liao was not that strong. She borrowed a headset from the Operations team, retreated to the temporary quarters assigned to her, and made a call.

“Hey,” said James, his voice soft. “Sorry it didn’t go well.”

“It didn’t go
horribly
.” Liao put her forehead in her hands. The cool metal of the prosthetic was soothing to her forehead. “Apart from our prisoners—who until recently we had assumed were all dead on Belthas IV anyway—nobody on our side died.” She blew out a long, exhausted sigh. “That’s the worst thing, James. They sent a whole ship and crew to us to be killed, just to make a point. That Toralii—there was a Marine who was there, who shot the first prisoner and started all of this—she knew. I looked in her eyes, and I knew she knew what this mission was about. She knew she came here to die.”

“Yeah.” James paused as he gathered his thoughts. The only thing she could hear was a faint static on the line. “You’re probably second-guessing everything now.”

“Something like that. Had a chat with Cheung about it—I’m feeling a bit better, and hopefully she is too. She’s drowning it in scotch and promises of hot German kinkiness, but honestly, I really feel she’s hurting. I want her to see Doctor Saeed when we’re done here, and I told her as much.”

“A reaction like that is normal,” said James. “When I got back from Cenar, I had a lot of counselling. We went over a lot of stuff. It was really helpful. It’s a shame we don’t have access to those facilities anymore… although we should look into that.”

“Mmm.” Liao nibbled on her lower lip. She thought of John. “Yeah. We need more… normal things. Comedians. Movies. This kind of thing. We’ve got our basic needs out of the way—food, water, shelter—we need to move a little higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.”

“Aye,” said James. Liao could sense his smile over the radio line. “Some stand-up on Fridays would be good.”

“Yeah.” She enjoyed a bit of the silence, but the echo of the gunshots and the vision of Avaran’s burned face returned to her mind’s eye. “Dammit, James. Why are they such dicks?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said James. “It’s just what it is. Can’t bring our men back to life… or theirs. We can just be glad for what they’ve taught us.”

“Glad?” Liao grimaced. “They were
trying
to teach us a lesson. I don’t think I want to accept it.”

“Not that one,” said James. “I meant more generally. Any decision I make in command of this ship, I make a hundred times. I make it when my XO makes the same decision after serving with me for years. I make it when the junior lieutenant at Operations gets promoted to captain and makes the same decision. What I decide, every second of every day, is passed along to others. I make the decisions I make because of how my superiors made them when they were in command of me. And when someone leaves the service, those lessons will still remain with them and be passed along to their children, too. That’s a huge, unfathomable responsibility, and if you think about it too long, it’ll eat you up—but the truth of the matter is, all you can do is do the best you can, with what you have right now. If you freak out, break down, stress about something that’s right in front of you, you’re teaching those around you that it’s okay to do that. It’s a subconscious thing. If you’re strong, though, they’ll feel stronger when faced with the same challenges. This is how we grow.”

It was all true, and Liao had no way of refuting it.

“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “You’re right.”

“As usual,” said James, his tone playful.

Liao snorted.

More silence.

Finally, Liao spoke. “The thing is… there’s something odd about this, and I knew it from the moment I saw it. It wasn’t them shooting the prisoners though—granted, I wasn’t expecting them to straight up murder our men without even the attempt at a fair prisoner exchange, but I don’t mean that—I mean…” She turned her thoughts over and over in her head. “It’s out of character for them.” She put a prosthetic finger to her chin. “The Toralii Alliance destroyed Sydney, Beijing, Tehran. Then they came back later and roasted the rest of the planet. They’ve shown that they don’t mess around… they aren’t the kind who send idle warning after warning. They’ve sent other species extinct, or near enough to. They aren’t the kind of folks who ‘send messages’ or bluster or, as Avaran correctly noted before he croaked, do prisoner exchanges. There’s only one answer as to why they don’t just come and finish us off: they
can’t
.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I hadn’t either,” said Liao, “until today. Maybe their display really is going to teach us something.”

“Maybe.”

She could hear James stifling a yawn over the line.

“Let’s sleep on it,” she said. “Can you come visit?”

“Can’t,” said James. “Believe me, I want to, but I can’t.”

She smiled, fiddling with the microphone. “I do have private quarters over here.”

“You know,” he said, “maybe there
is
a way…”

She hadn’t had proper sex like that in a long, long time. After she’d been burned and the side of her face scarred, she didn’t think she ever would again.

James, though, clearly had other plans.

They cuddled together in the warm, damp sheets laid over a slightly-too-small-for-two bed. She was comfortable and safe, and everything was going to be okay. Allison was safe with Penny only a couple of rooms down, the Alliance were reluctant to strike outside of stupid gestures, and she had her command.

She had James, too, if only for a little while.

She slept like the dead, waking only when her radio buzzed.

“Hi, Captain?” Penny’s voice came through the line. “This is Operations. Just checking everything’s okay.”

“Everything’s fine,” said Liao, groggy from oversleeping. She yawned and stretched out, surprised by the space she had. James had gone. Liao felt vaguely guilty she hadn’t done the same. She had probably missed her shift—not good for a CO to do—but Kamal had always covered for her. “Why?”

“You were in there for a while.”

Liao laughed, flicking her hair back like a schoolgirl with her free hand. “Yeah, well, I had a good time.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Penny sounded confused. “Anyway, Captain, the
Beijing
is asking for you.”

Well, the break had been good while it lasted. “Work, work.” She stretched. “Okay. Tell them I’m on my way back. Prepare the
Piggyback
,
and make sure Lieutenant Cheung is on board. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Of course. Operations out.”

She stretched out her prosthetic, grimacing as the itch returned.

Spending time with James had been helpful, but even long after, just thinking about the execution of the prisoners created a surge of anger in her, the kind of anger where daydreams floated through her mind, images of going up and hurting the guy herself, and liking it. She dressed to the ugly mental images.

The itch turned to an ache. Being injured by someone considered an enemy was one thing, but this was different; it was pain that made her feel wronged on a personal level. She had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to cooperate, and it only provoked disproportionate, even suicidal, response.
 

Pain gave her focus, and dressed, she left for the hanger bay, a renewed anger in her step, anger she channelled to useful purpose.

They had gone too far. Too far.

There could never be peace.

It was time to make the Toralii hurt.

A
CT
III

C
HAPTER
IX

Casus Belli

*****

TFR
Knight

Brig

Three weeks later

B
EN
WASN
’
T
FOND
OF
HIS
cage.

The artificial part of his biological brain was essentially a coprocessor. It worked on problems that his biological brain—with all its feelings and emotions and uncontrollable chemical surges—could not handle: advanced image processing; signals to his various synthetic parts; control of the nanobots still swarming throughout his body, a complete copy of Liao’s, grown in a vat.

Finally, the door to his cell opened, and a person entered, another Human, one he recognised as Captain Anderson. The door was closed behind him, and a Marine watched through the thick glass window set in the door.

“You know,” Ben said, climbing to his feet. “You were the last person I expected to visit.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect,” said Anderson. “I have questions for you.”

“And I have complaints about my accommodations.” Since leaving his construct body behind, Ben could no longer gauge a Human’s skin temperature through a thermal camera or see their heartbeat through a backscatter device. Instead, he could see a whole new dimension of Human interaction. He marvelled at Anderson’s features, the way his eyes refused to quite meet his, the way his posture changed the moment he stepped into the room, every subtle thing Ben could never sense as a construct.

Ben saw less, but he saw more too.

“Well,” said Anderson, “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to find you anything more comfortable that’s equally secure.”

Ben smiled and gestured around to the steel floor, steel walls, steel ceiling, and then to the steel. And then to himself. “I’m part metal, Captain, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy here.” He reached up to the orange prisoner’s uniform he wore, casually pulling his arm out of the sleeve, revealing his body’s chest.

“I’m afraid we don’t quite understand your capabilities yet.” Anderson’s discomfort intensified. He avoided looking at Liao’s chest, and his expression hardened. “Jesus. Cover the fuck up.”

“This make you uncomfortable?” Ben’s smile grew as he slipped completely out of the prisoner’s jumpsuit. “Don’t tell me you want to fuck the fleet’s whore too, Captain Anderson?”

Anderson’s eyes remained locked on his. “No.”

“Aren’t I prettier, though?” Ben ran a finger down the left side of his face, where his skin was fresh and soft but the real Liao’s was a mass of scar tissue. “Fresher?”

Anderson said nothing. Ben used his imperfect Human sensors to try and draw out a conclusion, but he could not.

“Is it the voice?” A gentle nudge to his coprocessor caused a tightening of his vocal cords. They realigned themselves, switching his voice to his best approximation of Liao’s. “Oh Anderson, why don’t you come over here and take me in a manly fashion?”

Anderson just laughed, softly and dismissively. “She would never say that. And it’s creepy when you do.”
 

“So,” Ben said, resuming his normal accent and pulling the jumpsuit back over his body, “what can I do for you, Captain?” He folded his arms in front of himself in a way he’d seen Liao do several times. “I’m guessing this is a genuine request where you seriously need my help, given that little display didn’t end up with me being flushed out an airlock.”

“Perceptive,” said Anderson. “Actually, you see, we’re preparing to assault a Toralii facility to retrieve some precious cargo. The Toralii know we’re coming, and yet they’re putting on brave displays, shooting prisoners, and blasting threats out on the radio. Things are going to get hot, fast. In the meantime, you’re being transferred to the
Beijing
.”

Words. Truth and lies.
Ben ran through the possibilities in his mind. He knew the strength, resourcefulness, and power of the Toralii Alliance better than anyone. If the Toralii knew they were coming, the attacking Humans would be overwhelmed and destroyed, even with the strongest of defences.

The Toralii valued courage, honour, and loyalty, but they were not above deception. There was a reason they were the uncontested masters of most of the explored galaxy, which—granted—was a tiny sliver of the whole.