The Iilan
*****
Operations
TFR Beijing
Near the great singularity Majev-tor
LIAO WITHDREW THE KEY AND replaced it in her pocket.
“Jump complete, Captain.”
Nodding, she walked back to her command console and then leaned over it and studied it intently. “Good. Are we in position?”
“Absolutely no way to tell,” said Dao. “We’re seeing farther out than any Human has ever seen before. As far as I can tell, based on the information we were given, we are in position.”
“Captain,” called Ling, “our radar is currently showing”—he paused—“absolutely nothing, except one contact approximately four hundred thousand kilometres away. Two hundred thousand tonnes.”
“Nothing?” Liao asked.
“Nothing. No planets, no solar bodies of any kind.” Dao frowned slightly. “We’re in the void, Captain.”
The distances between solar systems were vast, almost unimaginable. Seeing the solar system as a whole meant that even the largest planets, such as Jupiter and Saturn, were just tiny specks in the vast black ocean, where the distance between the planets was measured in how many minutes it took the light to travel that distance. But the distance between stars was measured in light-years, a vastly larger distance.
And in that great, empty space between solar systems was nothing. Radiation, some dust, very rarely rogue comets and even rogue planets, but otherwise nothing. The universe, conceptually, was essentially empty, the vast majority of its area being the featureless nothings between worlds. She had known this, logically and intellectually, but only now, as the Beijing floated in the great empty nothingness on the other side of the Milky Way galaxy, did she suddenly come to truly know this fact and understand its implications.
She felt very small indeed.
“Let’s see if we can get in contact with that ship,” she said, “and find out how far away we are from the singularity.”
“Captain,” said Ling, “we have a massive distortion, bearing twenty by two hundred seventy, three-quarters of an AU from our current position.”
“Is it Majev-tor? Show me.”
A few taps of Ling’s keyboard sent the radar data to her console, and she stared at the readout.
The radar screen showed the vast sea of nothing stretching out on all sides of the ship, with the tiny blue dot of the unknown contact floating some distance away. The radar waves, moving at the speed of light, were still coming back to them; the view slowly shrunk as more and more of the surrounding space was recorded and the lack of returning radar pulses was marked as empty.
Beyond a certain point, though, a large wall existed below them, sealing off a part of the universe. She knew it to be a hyper-massive sphere, colossal beyond any of her experience, so to her, it appeared to be a featureless flat wall.
On their side of the wall was essentially nothing. Dust. Comets. The other ship. Readouts filled one side of her screen, conveying all manner of information. The spectroscope showed a certain concentration of hydrogen atoms per cubic metre, the projected flight path of a small comet, the local ionising radiation levels: small things that occupied the vacant spaces in the universe.
But beyond that wall, that line she could see so clearly on the radar screen, was a different sort of nothing, a complete, total emptiness that was something else entirely. It was the complete, total, utter absence of all things. No radiation at all. No dust. No hydrogen atoms. A complete, absolute emptiness that rendered her speechless.
In high school, her favourite subject had been Greek history and philosophy. She had picked from those studies her own name, Melissa, a gentle goddess who discovered honey. She knew that the Greeks who followed Epicurus, a group of materialists and scholars who existed around 300 BCE, were the first to derive the notion that atoms of matter existed in a featureless void. Epicurus proposed the idea of the space between worlds, a concept he called metakosmia, the relatively empty spaces in the infinite void where worlds had not been formed by the joining together of the atoms through their endless motion.
The translation she had read compared the Epicurean philosophy to that of pages on a manuscript. Where the words and letters were the atoms and the gaps between them, the lacuna, represented the metakosmia.
The lacuna, 空白白 in Chinese, was the absolute, complete nothing, devoid of meaning and substance.
The thought suddenly leapt into her mind as clear as bright day. That was what the singularities were. The lacuna, the gaps of the manuscript of the universe, the holes where nothing was and nothing should be.
“Captain?” said Iraj, over her shoulder.
She realised she’d been staring at her monitor. Liao straightened her back, nodding to her XO. “Yes?”
Iraj looked at Ling and back at Liao. “Mister Ling reports that the Iilan are attempting to open communications with us.” He frowned ever so slightly, his tan face wrinkling. “Are you… okay?”
“I’m fine.” She reached up and adjusted her hat. “Sorry. I was just… looking at that great bit of nothing and getting all philosophical inside.”
“Well, be careful with that. Remember what Nietzsche said, ‘When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.’”
Liao returned her gaze to the radar screen, to that vast, slowly expanding field of nothing and reached for her headset.
“I think I understand what he meant.” Liao adjusted the headset, watching as Iraj put his on as well. “Patch in Nalu,” she said to Hsin, their communications officer. “She will be in her quarters.”
Hsin tapped some keys, spoke words into his headset, and turned to Liao. “She’s ready and standing by.”
“Good.” Liao took a breath. “Open the channel.”
[“Who comes to the graveyard of the Iilan?”] asked a voice, low and echoing in her ears, speaking the Toralii dialect. She had been told that the Iilan were birdlike and had, subconsciously, expected a chirping, high-pitched voice, but this was different.
[“I am Leader Nalu of the Telvan. We have had dealings before, fair Iilan.”]
[“That we have, Leader Nalu, but your current vessel does not match the schematics of your previous visits. We are wary. What species do you travel with?”]
Liao looked at Kamal. A lot hinged on their introduction and the first impression they made.
[“They are called Humans.”] Nalu’s voice was quiet and respectful. [“And their ship is called the Beijing.”]
[“This is Worldship Eightt. I am Paar, the speaker for this vessel.”]
Liao looked to Kamal. “Worldship?”
He shrugged, and Nalu continued. [“Have you heard of the events that transpired at Kor-Vakkar?”]
[“We have indeed, and we are pleased. Word of the deeds of the Humans and of the great Wrathbringer who broke Kor-Vakkar’s back has reached even us, the ghosts of those who once lived within the great void.”] Paar paused. [“We have obtained their language data files in a recent transaction. Is she with you?”]
Liao touched the talk key on her headset. “This is Commander Melissa Liao of the TFR Beijing. It’s a pleasure to finally hear your voice. We’ve heard a lot about your species of late.”
The response, now in English, was low and curious, somewhat emotionless but tinged with energy. “Have you, indeed? Strange words to come from the lips of one so famous so quickly, Commander Liao. You surprise us with your humility.”
The voice spoke perfect English with a British accent. The same accent Ben spoke with.
“It’s a quality I find myself with from time to time,” Liao said.
“Very well, foe of the Toralii Alliance, Spear of Earth, what brings you to the ruins of our home?”
Liao took a deep breath to steady herself. “We need your help.”
“Many come to us for aid: individuals, ships, countries, planets, systems, species, alliances. All want their chance to pick the bones of the dead Iilan empire, to feast on our remains, to gorge themselves on our technology and grow ever more powerful. We weary of those who take our power, wielding it as though they, themselves, forged it—those who offer us baubles for gold.”
“We’re not here to offer you anything more than a fair deal,” said Liao, “and we don’t know if you have what we need, anyway.”
“We have a great many things,” came the reply, “of great power or great curiosity or great artistic value. We value all. Some we share; some we do not. Some we deny the very existence of. You have impressed us already with your deeds, Human, so tell us what it is you seek.”
“The construct known as Ben. He has taken a world in Toralii space, Belthas IV. We need your help defeating one of his technologies.”
Soft, deep laughter came over the line. “We have knowledge of the construct Ben, and we supported his efforts at a vast discount. He has been in contact with us, reporting on his success, and we are most pleased. The destruction of so many ships of the Alliance makes our hearts sing, Commander Liao. The enemies of the Alliance are our friends, and we shall celebrate their victories whenever they can be had.”
“I know the Alliance did terrible things to your people,” Liao said. “I’m not unsympathetic. I know you must be pleased that he used his device to destroy many Alliance ships. And believe me; that’s been quite a boon to us as well, but Ben won’t stop until he’s had his revenge, and I don’t think he can ever be convinced that whatever slight he’s endured has been repaid in full. Ben wants to be human; he wants to be a real boy, but there are no fairy godmothers in the real world. There’s no ending for Ben that doesn’t involve either his destruction or genocide.”
“Genocide. Such as the act the Toralii Alliance perpetuated on us? Forgive me for being heartless, Commander, but there is no sympathy left in our hearts for the butchers of our forefathers, no matter how pained their plight may be.”
She closed her eyes a moment. Then they were back to square one. Without the Iilan’s assistance, there could be no way to defeat Ben.
“May I ask… do you know of Ben’s jump technology, the device that allows him to activate it outside of jump points?”
“We are aware of it.”
The response, Liao thought, was guarded. Whereas before the Iilan seemed eager to discuss the topics Liao brought up, now they seemed hesitant, reluctant.
“Do you possess similar technology?”
Another laugh, this one fainter and more strained. “If you have come to barter for a similar device, you are wasting both our time and yours. We possess no such technology. In fact, Ben has pledged to turn his device over to us once the campaign at Belthas IV has been completed, to be documented and studied, the information stored in our archives.”
Liao tapped her headset, thinking quickly. “No, we’re not seeking one of our own, but… Excuse me; hold on one moment.” She turned to Rowe. “Miss Rowe, what do we know about that device?”
Rowe rolled her shoulders. “Nothing. It’s basically a separate co-processor that can be patched into a standard jump drive. It works like magic; you put in the coordinates, anywhere, and it takes you there.”
“What did we learn about it when we had it? Any key piece of knowledge we could tell them?”
Rowe stared at her as though she had a spider crawling all over her face. “You… didn’t read my report?”
“No.” She blinked. “Should I have?”
“I sent it to you, like, months after the trial! It took me weeks to write, and I hate writing shit! You know I suck at that kind of stuff, but I did it!”
“Months? Summer… Summer, I wasn’t even in the service at that point. How could I have possibly read it?”
Rowe stared again and then looked away. “Well, I wrote it,” she said, her tone grumpy.
“Good. We’re now all very glad you did. How long is it?”
“Long. Real long, like, two hundred pages. It has X-rays of the jump drive, spectronomical analysis, chemical analysis, a bunch of bullshit I copied and pasted in.”
Liao nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds promising.” She touched the talk key. “Sorry for the delay. We were in possession of the jump device for an extended period of time, and we have compiled an extensive report of its contents. We were unable to reverse-engineer its technology, but this may be of interest to you.”
After a long pause, during which Liao thought the Iilan had stopped responding to them, the voice came again.
“Prepare for docking.”
The view on the monitor was an odd one.
The Iilan ship was a perfectly spherical golden ball half the size of their own ship that floated towards their vessel silently, ominously, the colours shimmering slightly in the faint light of the Beijing’s spotlight. As they drew closer, the details on the hull became more obvious; small grooves ran over the whole device, and it seemed to be a mesh of interlocking gears, twisting and turning, constantly working.
When it drew close enough to dock, a metal tube extended from the side of the Iilan hull as though it were alive; it contorted itself, twisting around until it latched onto the Beijing’s docking port, fluid and undulating as though filled with flowing water.
Liao left Kamal in charge and moved out of operations to the docking port, a briefcase in one hand. She met Cheung and a team of her marines on the way, forming up ceremoniously near the entrance. With a final nod to Cheung, the door was opened, and Liao stared down the long corridor.
It appeared to be full of the same light-green liquid as the tank on the Giralan. The fluid seemed to be held in place by some invisible force, undulating slightly as small changes in the air pressure of the Beijing pushed the wall of liquid back and forth. Just beyond the wall, floating halfway up the passage, was a black mask similar to an industrial breathing mask or a gas mask.
“Please don the mask and come aboard,” came a voice, distorted as it filtered through the liquid. “We cannot survive in your atmosphere.”
“Can I survive in that?”
“With the mask to assist breathing, you can.”
She set down her case and stepped closer, leaning forward and gingerly extending a hand. She pushed her hand into the liquid, finding a surprising lack of resistance, and retrieved the mask. The metal was surprisingly cool as though it had been sitting in ice for a time.
Pulling back what functioned as the head strap, Liao pulled the device over her head. With a faint hiss, the device molded to her skin, creating a tight seal. The cold was uncomfortable for a moment, but she soon became accustomed to it.
Liao did not want to enter that liquid, to become the image of herself submerged in the tank, but no other option existed. She could do nothing else since they needed the Iilan’s help and she feared offending them. With a glance behind her to Cheung, Liao picked up the briefcase and stepped past the invisible wall that separated air from fluid.
She immediately felt the effects of zero gravity but also, for once, a complete lack of the usual nausea that accompanied it. Instead, Liao floated in the cool liquid, feeling comfortable and suddenly at ease. With barely a slosh of her hands, she found herself gliding effortlessly through the stuff, floating towards the inside of the sphere.
The entire ship was laid out before her. There appeared to be no rooms of any kind within the sphere, completely full of the green fluid, and Liao could see hundreds—if not thousands—of figures moving around within the liquid. A metal ball in the centre of the vessel, covered in protrusions, was the only visible mechanics or hardware in the entire ship.
One of the figures drifted close to her. The creature, completely covered in dark-brown feathers, had wings for arms and tiny, clawed feet. It had a large, long, hooked beak entirely unprotected by any kind of breathing apparatus.
“Commander Liao, I presume?” the Iilan said. It had the same voice she had heard over the radio. When it spoke, its beak clacked slightly, but its tongue was articulate and complete. Somehow, despite the large barriers between their physiology, it could speak English like a native.
“That’s correct.” Liao’s voice was muffled by the mask, but she could hear herself well. “You are Paar the Speaker, correct?”
“That is I.”
Liao felt herself slowly turning, floating upside down. She struggled to right herself to no avail. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to being underwater.”
The Iilan didn’t seem bothered by Liao being inverted relative to him. She assumed that, in a weightless spheree, this would happen often. “Many are not. This particular fluid is a technology of ours; it dissolves waste matter, sweat, excretions, dead skin, and dead feathers. Additionally, it is highly resistant to radiation, heat, poisons, and toxins, along with inertia. Our systems are built around it, and it is one of our greatest possessions.”
Liao was not entirely comfortable with the idea of swimming in dissolved excrement, but she remained diplomatic. “I’ve seen it before, in the tanks on Ben’s ship. He was growing… humanoids. He was growing a clone of me.”
“I cannot discuss previous clients’ exchanges.” The Iilan inclined his head. “I am sorry, though, if the idea has caused you any distress. We use cloning technology to preserve our species, although many find it unnatural.”
Liao, somewhat uncertainly, nodded her head, finally managing to right herself. “Many among our kind would consider it unnatural too.”
“When you are desperate just to survive, there’s no line you won’t cross, no threshold you’ll be bound to. All members of every species say they would hold to their principles to death, but so few of them do. The survival instinct is strong, and it keeps you going, even when there’s no hope left. When there’s nothing left but ashes in your present and a cold, empty death in your future, you keep going. Some call it hope. Some call it perseverance, but to us, it is merely the existence of day to day.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Actually,” said Paar, “I sincerely hope you forget it, this matter never crosses your mind again, and you never feel those words apply to you or your kind. I hope you can avoid our fate and you can be spared the pain of the loss of your planett. I hope you do, sincerely and genuinely, but I fear for your planet, Earth. I hope it should never come to pass, but perhaps the loss of one’s homeworld is the baptism of fire all species must endure, the toll they pay for a life amongst the stars.”
“We have put a lot of effort into defending Earth,” she said, “but I thank you for your concern.”
The Iilan regarded her with sad eyes. “I fear that whatever preparations you have made will be insufficient. You are a young species, fit and eager, and you display great promise. I simply pray that you are not too eager and too strong and that you do not reach beyond your limits. The Toralii Alliance may seem to be working with you, but I assure you, they always—always—keep their own desires and their own goals closest to their hearts. This is their way, their nature. You cannot change it.”
Liao did not know what to say. “I will try to remember your advice.”
“Thank you.” The Iilan gave a polite nod. “To business, then?”
“Yes, to business. I have a copy of the report in my briefcase, but I’m afraid it will not survive the liquid, as it is written on a material that is severely weakened by contact with water.”
“We can generate a synthetic atmosphere later to open your case.” Paar clicked his beak. “But I know that you will be unwilling to give up the full report for nothing in exchange. So please, what is it you desire in exchange for your information?”
Liao was struck by the realisation that this was the second time she had bartered for technology using information. Perhaps, she mused, she would have Rowe install a larger database on the Beijing to store more of Earth’s media.
“We need a way to disable Ben’s jump device, temporarily at least, so we can assault his vessel.”
“We have several ways of doing this. However, they are valuable technology, since we use them to escape Toralii Alliance ambushes.”
Liao felt an itching under her mask but fought the urge to scratch. “As a show of good faith, we are happy to let you read the full report before you make your decision.”
Paar regarded her curiously. “A very interesting show of faith, Captain, to surrender your bargaining chip with nothing in return.”
“Nalu tells us that the Iilan are reclusive but fair. My reputation as a warbringer has spread even to your ears, Speaker Paar, but I am like you. I would trade everything I’ve done for a reputation as a fair, just leader who keeps to her word. I would prefer that over all the adulation of the Kel-Voran, of the Toralii, and of the other warlike species in the galaxy. That is not who I am.”
Paar, strangely, seemed to smile with his eyes rather than his beak. “Very well, Captain. If that is your desire, I can assure you that we will evaluate your report and derive a conclusion. Please, you can remain here, if you wish, while we confer and evaluate the information for ourselves.”
Liao floated in the strange fluid for what seemed like an hour. In a ship with no walls, the Iilan floated away with her briefcase, and Liao, out of politeness, didn’t follow him. Soon he was lost in the sea of Iilan, the closest ones giving her curious looks but saying nothing to her.
Finally, the Iilan returned, floating towards her in the faintly glowing green fluid.
“We evaluated your report,” Paar said, his tone slightly hesitant and reluctant.
Not a good sign.
“I see,” she answered. “It contains all we know. I’m sorry if it was insufficient.”
“It was… primitive,” he answered, “with numerous misspellings and poor grammar, but it also contained a surprising amount of information as well.”
Damn that woman, Liao thought. She could at least have used a spell checker.
“Accordingly,” Paar said, “while the information is not of insignificant value to us, it is not, on its own, worth one of our more treasured secrets although the speculative side of the report was informative. Whoever wrote it seemed to have a great love for the technical and an affinity for understanding things on a basic level.”
Liao felt a clenching in her chest but nodded diplomatically. “I see.”
“However, it is also the opinion of our leaders that yours is an honest species. Strong and impulsive, yes, but those feelings can be tempered out of you in time. We see much promise in you, and we see little future in our continued research here at Majev-tor. We will move on to the other singularities in a generation or two, but we wish to do some good before we do. We have decided to grant you the least of the technologies you can use to accomplish your goals; we will grant you one single device, with a single use, in exchange for the report, despite the significant discount this would present… on certain conditions.”
Liao released a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Conditions. Go on.”
“The device will be returned to us, and it will be returned unopened and unexamined. Analysis of your report has given us insight into the methods you use to study things. We will take precautions against such attempts. They will not be pleasant for you.”
Liao nodded. “We won’t peek inside Pandora’s box.” She held up a hand to mollify Paar’s confusion. “A Human legend. I’ll throw in the story for your personal reading; don’t worry. Please, go on.”
“We want Ben’s jump drive intact, if possible, or full salvage rights if it is not. Additionally, we want any data acquired during the battle and any other information about this technology you find.”
“Agreed. We’ll give you whatever is left, and whatever we know about the jump drive we’ll share with you when we return your device.” She reached up and adjusted the mask slightly. “Is there anything else?”
“Not at this moment.”
The wall of the ship behind her extended out, reaching for the Beijing.
“You may return to your vessel,” Paar concluded. “We will send the device through within an hour, along with instructions on deploying it.”
TFR Beijing
“They fucking call this a weapon?” Rowe upended the tiny package onto Liao’s desk. A small circular device with a button on top clattered to her desk along with a six-inch square sheet of some rubbery material that bounced when it hit the wood. “I think you got robbed, Captain.”
“Well, let’s not be hasty. What is it?”
Rowe picked up the rubbery slip, holding it up to the light. “Nothing, it’s blank.”
Liao could see writing on the opposite side. “Turn it around.”
“Oh, wait, it says, ‘Please see other side.’” Rowe flipped it in her hand and read. “Measure the distance between your ship, currently, and the edge of Majev-tor. Be within half that distance, and push the button. All jump drives within the area will be disabled for a period of six times the time you spent aboard our vessel.” Rowe turned it over once and then again. “That’s all it says.”
“Well, they seem to like their technology simple, just like the Toralii.”
Rowe made a disgusted face. “Simple? Those Iilan fuckers are serious chowderbuckets. If it doesn’t take a doctorate to operate it, I couldn’t give a fuck about it.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
The redhead’s face lit up. “Did you know the defibrillator was invented before CPR?”
“I hate you, Summer.”
Rowe leaned forward, reaching out and pinching Liao’s cheek. “I know you do, Cappy-Cap.” She smiled and withdrew her hand. “Anyway, let’s teleport across the galaxy and blow up a robot, okay?”
“Sure.” She took a breath. “Let’s go do that.”
TFR Beijing
Later
“We are ready to jump, Captain.”
Floating beside the jump console, Liao gave one last look at the Iilan ship and reached for her key. Before she could withdraw it, however, alarms blared around them, and emergency lighting illuminated the operations room.
Rowe called over the din. “Captain! The jump drive has activated!”
“What!” Liao glanced at Kamal, who looked similarly confused, his key still in his hand. The jump drive should not have been active.
“Restoring gravity,” said Jiang, tapping at her keyboard.
Liao felt gravity return, using the console to steady herself as she floated back down. “Report! Jump drive status?” Her tone conveyed her displeasure, her gaze locked on Rowe, the grip on her console as tight as iron.
“Cooling, Captain. It got a little heated, but it should be ready to jump again shortly. Eight hundred degrees Kelvin… seven hundred, dropping.” Summer pushed back her seat, giving a loud, relieved sigh. “Whatever happened, it looks like it was just a temporary glitch. It was probably the alien thingy, or maybe the damn thing just wanted to go somewhere but then changed its mind. The Sydney had a similar issue during their shakedown cruise. It could be a glitch in the system that we’re only just now starting to see. Maybe it’s the new jump drive or some manufacturing flaw.”
Closing her eyes a moment, Liao reached up and dragged her hand down her face. “Find out what the hell happened,” she ordered, straightening her back and folding her arms in front of her chest. “If my ship is spontaneously going to start to jump without my express authorisation and then just as spontaneously stop, I want to know exactly what’s going on. Disassemble the whole jump assembly and examine it piece by piece. Audit the system code line by line if you have to. I want answers, and I want them as soon as you can get them to me.”
Rowe nodded. “Aye aye, Captain. We’ll start looking into it immediately.”
Liao stepped over to Rowe’s engineering workstation, leaning over the woman’s shoulder. The two read the scrolling text on the computer monitor, which Liao only understood a fraction of but which Summer seemed to comprehend, nodding occasionally in thought.
The incident nagged at her. It felt wrong, and she knew—somehow knew—that this was no ordinary system glitch. Jump drives didn’t just spin up and just as suddenly power down. A million possibilities swirled through her mind. Was it Ben’s influence or the Iilan or their strange device or interference from Majev-tor? Or was it just, as Summer said, some kind of glitch?
But perhaps that wasn’t it. Yes, the events were suspicious, but that wasn’t it. Something else was eating at her, gnawing at the back of her mind, drawing her attention away from the scrolling diagnostic text and forcing her mind to other things. It was like having the name of a song on the tip of her tongue, hearing its melody in her head and reproducing its tune, but being unable to articulate its name.
Then the question and the answer jumped into her head, fully formed.
“Allison,” she murmured.
Summer twisted in her seat, raising a curious eyebrow. “Hmm?”
Liao smiled at her chief engineer. “Sorry, just thinking aloud.” She paused. “Do you like that name? Allison?”
The redhead stared at her as though she were crazy. “Sure, it’s nice I, uhh, I guess… Why?”
Liao’s smile grew, and she slid one hand to Rowe’s shoulder, the other gently resting by her side, the tips of her fingers playing with the fabric of her uniform. “For my girl,” she answered, “I think I’ve picked out her name. I’ll have to check with James first, of course, but…”
Rowe shrugged and went back to work while Liao felt her eyes drawn to the external monitoring viewer, which displayed an image of the stars outside. She had seen such a view countless times, of course, but for some reason at this particular moment, she felt drawn to it.
She stared at the view, her warm smile remaining, as though some missing piece of the puzzle that was her life had just slotted into place. The nagging feeling immediately faded away to nothing, leaving her with a sense of completeness and serenity that outstripped any comparable feeling she’d had in her lifetime.
Allison. She would name her child Allison.
One hour later
“We figured out what it was.” Rowe jabbed a finger down at the box. “The device. It emits the same kind of radiation that our jump drive does but much, much stronger. It’s like shining a floodlight on a shadow puppet show—the device’s radiation blocks the way the jump drive works at a fundamental level that I could explain, but I know you’d just get mad and yell at me if I tried.”
Liao listened as Rowe spoke. “Correct. How did you discover it was the device?”
“Basically, we found fluctuations in the jump drive’s power consumption. The closer we brought it to the jump drive, the worse the fluctuations got. So we figure it’s screwing it up.”
“Okay,” said Liao, “how do we fix it?”
“We can’t,” Summer replied, “but we can move it to the bow of the ship and stick it in a Faraday cage. That should keep its influence on the jump drive to a minimum.”
Liao considered. “Do it and make sure we get the jump drive working as soon as possible. The Iilan will be wondering why we haven’t jumped out yet.”
“Well, that, or they’re chuckling to themselves, knowing that our jump drive will be screwed up.” Rowe tapped her finger on her console. “Guess we know it works though.”
“Yeah, a little too well if you ask me.” Liao looked toward the door. “Go. Fix my ship.”
Summer grinned and skipped out of operations, and Liao was left to her command console, left to the huge wall of nothing that ever so slowly grew out to meet them.
Allison…
She was aware of Iraj looking over her shoulder, but she didn’t say anything, the two of them staring at the monitor intently.
TFR Beijing
A day later
Everything was ready. The plans were made, the pieces in place. The Beijing hovered in the Mars-Phobos L1 Lagrange point waiting for the very last signal to be given so their operation could begin.
Liao hadn’t discussed the name with James, so focused was she on the upcoming battle, but she would talk to him the moment they had some free time.
The Sydney had not reappeared. This fact, now of growing concern to Liao, caused her some degree of worry. They had agreed to wait until the final jump preparations to discount the ship’s presence, a time that had now arrived.
“Ready to jump the ship. Artificial gravity coming off in three, two, one… mark.”
Liao gripped the jump console tightlyy, using it to steady herself as the gravity faded away. She felt her feet float off the floor, the old familiar feeling of sickness in her gut as her body protested the lack of familiar gravity keeping it down. “Mister Hsin, inform the fleet that we’re about to jump and confirm the jump order.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Hsin spoke into his headset, making several rapid calls, and turned back to her. “The Tehran confirms that, immediately following our jump, they’re going to be right behind us, so we need to vacate that jump point as quickly as possible. Receiving word from the Kel-Voran; they’re ready for their jump, the Telvan for theirs, and… the Toralii Alliance ships also report the way is clear. Once we’ve disabled Ben’s ship, the route to Belthas IV will be clear.”
Liao repositioned herself, using her grip to keep her position as level as possible. “Very good. Let’s do it then.”
Iraj floated next to her, his own key in hand. He leaned in to speak, his voice quiet so nobody would hear him above the murmur of the operations crew. “I didn’t get a chance to say so before, but… it’s good to have you back, Captain.”
She gave him a relieved smile. “It’s good to be back. And… it’s good to have your support, Kamal. Thank you.”
“You know I’ve got your back, Captain. Besides, in my mind, this is your ship, your first child. Nobody should take it from you.”
“Thank you.”
She took a breath, and the two inserted their twin keys into the jump console, a large black board covered in a variety of blue lights. Liao stuck her key in the left-hand slot, and Kamal inserted his to the right.
“Executing jump.”
She turned the key with a satisfying click, and the ship leapt across the stars, to war.