Plan A
*****
Operations
TFR Beijing
Meanwhile
LIAO FELT STRANGE TO BE in operations with another person in command, but in every other way, it was exactly as she had remembered it.
Commodore Vong had permitted her to stay in operations with the rest of the command staff despite her role as observer. It was a little gesture of solidarity that, she felt, helped make up for the harsh words Vong had for her during the briefing. She suspected that Vong had meant what he had said but also had a little bit of respect for her. It was a strange feeling and hard to articulate, but she did feel that, while he may have disagreed with her command style and with many of the decisions she made when she was in command of the Beijing, Commodore Vong meant her no ill will.
Being back in operations was nice.
The Beijing floated in the Lagrange point Cerberus guarded. The coordinates Avaran had programmed into their computer would take them to the L1 Lagrange point of Belthas IV, the same place the Alliance fleet had jumped to. Kamal removed the small key from his chest pocket, and Vong did the same. They inserted and turned the keys, a procedure she had performed dozens of times herself, and the ship jumped.
Normally, this was a completely imperceptible event that, apart from a few blinking lights lighting up on consoles scattered around the dimly lit operations room, passed by without incident.
Not this time.
There was a terrific scraping noise as though long fingernails were being dragged at high speed across a chalkboard. Immediately, proximity alarms and thermal warnings sounded. The crew reacted quickly.
“Jump complete, Captain!” called Lieutenant Dao, the navigator.
Instinctively, Liao turned her eyes towards the man and opened her mouth to reply but forced it to close.
“We have arrived at the Belthas system.” Dao continued.
The new chief of engineering, a short, stocky man with a completely shaved head named Au, called out as well. “Jump drive status nominal. The device is cooling. Hull temperature has increased by four hundred Kelvin but is falling.”
“What the hell happened?” asked Vong, leaning up against the command console in almost exactly the same manner Liao expected she had once done. Was this what it looked like to be one of the crew? Liao tried to imagine herself in that role, seeing it through another’s eyes.
“Captain?” Ling, the radar operator, stared at his radar screen. “Captain, we appear to be in the middle of a debris field. I’m reading almost… it must be ten million tonnes of debris spread out over a spherical region of approximately four thousand kilometres but very little beyond that. We appear to be in the exact epicentre of the debris field. Various metals and alloys, dense materials. It’s not rock or asteroids. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Ten million tonnes was a lot of material.
“It’s a graveyard,” Liao said to nobody, “the ruins of the Toralii ships. Whatever happened to that fleet, it happened fast. They were probably destroyed as they were jumping in, one by one, and it happened so quickly they couldn’t even jump away.”
Vong strode over to Lieutenant Dao’s chair. “Well, let’s ensure we don’t meet the same fate. Move us away from the jump point. Make best speed away from our point of origin straight down, avoiding any obstacles if you could. Jiang, charge the hull plating.”
The ship descended, a familiar feeling. She had served as a submariner before her time in space, and it felt just like the descent of a Han-class submarine, despite the efforts of the ship’s complex antigravity systems to compensate. The ship moved slightly forward and then back.
“Sorry, Captain, there’s a lot of debris.”
Vong gave a wet cough, thumping his chest. Liao watched the gesture with concern, de Lugo’s words coming back to her. Perhaps the highly oxygenated air really wasn’t good for men Vong’s age.
Recovering quickly, the commodore looked at the engineer. “Mister Au, what was the nature of the disturbance we experienced on jump-in?”
“Captain, it appears we displaced a small amount of debris when we jumped in. There wasn’t enough to disable the jump point, but since the displacement occurred at a significant fraction of CC, friction on the hull has caused moderate damage to the outer plating.”
“Can it still be charged?”
“I believe so. There’s a good chance it should only have a small effect on the performance of the hull plating, but we’re definitely going to need a new coat of paint.”
They scratched my ship, thought Liao, even though her aggravation at the situation was completely unreasonable as she would have ended up in the same predicament.
Vong nodded. “Good. Lieutenant Jiang, what’s our tactical situation?”
“Autocannon turrets are reporting damage from the debris, Captain. I wouldn’t fire them under these conditions unless we absolutely had to. Rail gun two is offline, naturally, but our missile launch tubes should still function.”
Liao wished the rail guns had been fixed. Not that it mattered; they could do nothing about it now.
“Mister Ling, what’s the status of the long-range radar?”
Ling sounded frustrated. “The debris is screwing everything up. I’m plotting a course and feeding it to navigation, but radar is soup. There’s a lot of small dust and fine particles, and that’s obscuring the bigger picture here, but by and large, there doesn’t appear to be a great deal of larger pieces. Whatever happened here, the large majority of the debris is dust.”
“What kind of weapon could do that?” Vong asked, and this time, he looked directly at Liao as he said it.
“Absolutely no idea,” Liao answered honestly. “The Toralii used their worldshatter devices on our ships at the battle of Kor’Vakkar to devastating effect, but it was always limited, three or four shots, maximum five. It caused too much heat buildup to be used regularly. And even then, the Sydney took a direct hit and was still able to return fire. To turn one Toralii cruiser to dust, let alone dozens of them… it doesn’t make any sense.”
Ling spoke. “Captain, I’m detecting an active radar.”
“Distance?”
He tapped on his keyboard. “One moment, Commodore. I’ll find out. Application of the inverse squared law to previously observed Toralii radar signatures gives a distance of approximately four hundred thousand kilometres. Inverse Doppler effect suggests that the emitter is stationary.” He pointed at his monitor. “It’s coming from Belthas IV.”
Vong nodded his agreement. “We don’t have a lot of time then. Assuming they can see through the debris cloud, it’s likely they can see us. Mister Dao, are we clear of the Lagrange point?”
“Two minutes, Captain.”
Liao saw Hsin, the communications officer, cup his headset and turn around in his seat. “Captain, we’re receiving an automated request to open communication from Belthas IV.”
“A beacon?”
“The request is for a two-way channel, sir. No idea what it could mean.”
Vong nodded. “Open it. Find out what they want. And put it on speaker.”
Technically, Vong was following protocol, but Liao usually preferred to take important calls one-on-one using her headset. As an observer though, she was grateful she would have both sides of the conversation.
Hsin touched the talk key. “Unidentified contact, this is the TFR Beijing. Communications open, over.”
Immediately, a thin, low voice filled the operations room, speaking with a crisp English accent, the same voice that had called her phone, unprompted, the night Tai had arrived. It flawlessly articulated every word as though it were a living creature, but Liao knew better.
Ben was not a living creature at all.
“Good morning, Melissa Liao. It is a pleasure to see you again. I was wondering when you would finally show yourself. I do trust that your arrival was not significantly hampered by my redecoration of the jump point?”
Liao felt as though cold water were running down her spine. The flawless way Ben was able to mimic the vocalisations of biological organisms seemed to have improved since she last heard his voice, and it was rich in tone and texture, playful and energetic.
Hsin replied, “Belthas IV, Beijing. We’re investigating the nature of what’s transpired here.”
“Oh come now, Melissa. That’s not your style… having your lackeys speak for you. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re surely not still angry about Velsharn, are you?”
“Let me talk to him, sir,” Liao asked Vong, but the man shook his head.
“I think it’s important that we keep our distance, Commander. It would be unwise to bring excessive emotion into this.”
Liao gritted her teeth subtly but nodded. “Of course.”
Hsin continued. “Belthas IV, we’re requesting a liaison to try to talk through this situation. If we could meet at a neutral location, or if you would accept an ambassador, we could begin negotiations. We would prefer a peaceful outcome.”
A low, amused chuckle echoed through operations. “So you are angry. Believe me; I can understand why. I am, of course, speaking to Mister Hsin, aren’t I?”
“Belthas IV, that’s correct,” said Hsin.
Vong shot Liao a confused look.
“Ben copied our entire computer’s records,” Liao explained, “including crew manifest.”
“Very well,” Ben’s voice decreased in pitch slightly, “make your way through the debris field and open communications with me when you have. I know what sticklers you military types are for protocol, so here is my offer: I’ll permit your commanding officer to come aboard for negotiations. No diplomats; I haven’t time for the petty lies of talking men.”
Hsin looked to Vong for confirmation, which was given.
“Very well, Belthas IV, we’ll radio when we’re clear.”
Static buzzed faintly, and the line closed.
“Mister Dao,” Vong said, “plot us a course through this junk.”
It took the Beijing hours to clear the ever-expanding debris field. The dust was too fine to consider moving it by any means the crew possessed, so Vong had them charge the hull plating, and the ship ploughed through the cloud, using its thin bow to cut through the mess, until the cloud of pulverised metal finally thinned and Dao announced that the particles per cubic metre had reached a sufficiently low volume that they could call Ben.
“TFR Beijing to Belthas IV, we’re clear of the debris field.”
Only a moment after Hsin took his finger from the transmit key, Ling spoke up.
“Radar contact, Captain. A ship has appeared, bearing zero-zero, a hundred kilometres distant. It appears to be… an unknown configuration, two hundred thousand tonnes.” He frowned, glancing at the thermal cameras. “Almost no heat on thermals, Captain. It looks like most of its systems are offline.”
“Bring up the optical camera,” Vong ordered. “I want to see what this thing looks like.”
A monitor on the command console lit up. Liao, without asking permission, walked over beside Vong and watched over his shoulder.
The ship was the Giralan, ripped from the sands of Karathi and thrown back into orbit. Liao drank in its mismatched composition, a disorganised, horrific disagreement of freshly installed parts grafted onto the rusted hulk of a starship that had been bent and warped from its impact on the unforgiving desert sand. Under normal circumstances, a ship like this would never be spaceworthy; even through the low-resolution, blocky monitor output, Liao could see the holes in its hull, some patched with heavy metal sheets or weapons, others exposed to the void like the rot of a living creature.
This was the ship that had destroyed a third of the Toralii fleet and conquered one of their worlds single-handedly. This was the ship that had the Toralii Alliance quivering in their boots, willing to come crawling to the lesser species for a cease-fire, willing to negotiate with those they saw as criminals. For all the rust and corrosion and impact damage Liao could see on the Giralan’s hull, not a single impact looked like weapon damage.
They hadn’t even touched it.
From the base of the vast, dead ship, a tiny vessel slipped from a hangar bay, a shining light against the black fabric of space, crowned with a faint blue glow, the illumination waxing and waning on a steady frequency as it slowly floated, clearly under power, towards the Beijing.
“Captain, incoming transmission.”
“Put it through,” said Vong.
Ben’s voice filled operations once again. “Your chariot to my home has arrived, Captain. Come, let us discuss matters like civilised people.”
The line crackled and went silent. Liao gave Vong a subtle nod, glad, for the first time since coming aboard, that the title of captain did not refer to her.
TFR Beijing
Lieutenant Yanmei Cheung stood beside Commodore Vong, watching with some hesitation as the depressurisation of the hangar bay completed its cycle and the large double doors that led to the launch bay opened, granting entrance to the ship’s large flight deck.
She didn’t trust things she couldn’t see, and that included the thick perspex that separated her face from the airless nothing on the other side. Her work as a marine often took her places where she felt uncomfortable, including the inside of pressurised spacesuits and alien spacecraft that any sane operator would have long ago consigned to the scrapheap, but she always swallowed her fear. She was able to control her mind’s protests and focus on her duty, but although the invisible perspex was hardened and specifically designed to resist the forces of the void, it seemed very frail and humble to be separating one from nothing.
Cheung focused on the small ship as it drifted through the doors to the hangar bay, holding her high-powered rifle comfortably in both hands. Bug-like and fat, rusted and decrepit, the transport appeared almost inert except for a single blinking blue light fixed on top. The tiny ship, seemingly under power, came to rest on the metal of the landing deck, balancing precariously upon thin, spindly metal legs. A long ramp ominously descended from the mouth of the ship, silently beckoning her and Vong to enter.
Her suit’s radio crackled in her ear, and Vong spoke. “That really doesn’t look safe.”
She smiled slightly at that. “No, sir, I have to admit it doesn’t. Still, if Ben was trying to get us killed, I think he’d have a better way to dispose of us than letting us die a rusty ship-related death.” She wiggled a hand. “Spacesuits protect from tetanus, too.”
They walked together towards the ramp, Cheung moving in front of Vong, the classic bodyguard position.
“I’m not sure how things were with Commander Liao, Lieutenant, but I think it’s important we maintain a professional distance.”
Cheung nodded her head, exaggerating the gesture slightly so he could see her suit move. “As you wish, sir.”
They moved into the maw of the small vessel, surveying the dark surroundings. 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. None was there. “I don’t think we should. 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. Removing her helmet would be safe, but orders were orders, and they made sense.
She barely felt the ship move at all as it lifted off, turning with only 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, only when the hatchway began to open with a loud creak-groan did Cheung realise 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 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 that 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 articulated 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 and 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 led 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 farther into the heart of the ship. There, the corrosion became less intense, and the sand gave way to metal.
It wass just as she remembered it… but different. Every now and then, a brand new, shining plate was welded into place over what had obviously been 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 farther on. Clumps of thin, pale, blue lights flickered along the length of the cables, 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 that she 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 descending down to the next level, and the constructs moved to either side of the entrance. The construct that had spoken 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 floor.
The stairway led to a wide-open room with a raised ceiling 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 and 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 its 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 had been 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 or 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 serving 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 and 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 of 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 walked, 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, 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 led 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 in confusion at Vong and 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 possess 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.”
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’s and Vong’s radios to be patched into the Bejing’s systems so their progress could be monitored, but it appeared that Ben had taken 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 with a small team, standing in the decompressed open area, arms patiently folded as the minutes ticked away. Soon the sight she expected 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, grabbing 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 deadd,” 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 stood at the bottom of the ramp and turned, looking up to face her.
“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.”
Then the door sealed, and Liao could hear nothing but the faint hiss of static as the ship lifted off the deck.