Their Lives, As They Are
*****
New York
United States
Six Months Later
THE BABY MONITOR IN THE centre of her bedside table crackled, and just as she knew it wouldd, the sound of wailing, compressed through the narrow bandwidth of the radio, filled their bedroom. It was night out. “It’s your turn,” Liao murmured, nudging James with her elbow.
“Mrrmgnrg, wha—? It is? I thought it was yours.”
They’d slept more than intended, more than they had thought possible given they were caring for an infant who seemed to enjoy crying as much as she enjoyed spilling bottles of milk all over her face and chest, the table, and the floor. James kissed her cheek from behind, his arms around her body like a second blanket, his dark-skinned hands holding her close. Safe. Secure.
“Mmm, you don’t get it,” she answered. “When you’re here on leave, we don’t do turns. You do it all, and I sleep because it’s my only chance. This is my— ” she yawned loudly and smacked her lips, “—biannual sleep, so go and don’t complain. Bottle’s in the fridge, middle shelf, usual place.”
James groaned and slipped out of their warm bed to feed their child, and Liao watched him leave.
Getting the apartment in New York had been something of a necessity. She had initially remained in China, staying with her parents, but Liao had been hounded by the press incessantly. To spare her family the grief and to give herself some peace and quiet, Liao had insisted on going elsewhere. She and James would not be tabloid fodder, more famous for their illicit affair than the numerous battles they had fought side by side. Although sleep was at a premium for both of them, even being alone in the room felt intolerable; Liao felt like following him out, to talk while he fed their as-yet-unnamed infant.
That desire died the moment she closed her eyes again and instantly fell asleep.
Hours passed as James tended the child. When she finally reopened her eyes, light filtered in through the cracks in the curtains, and she could see morning had arrived. Her nose twinged; the savoury scent of cooking reached it, warm, moist, and tinged with garlic, butter and spices. Fish, she was certain.
Climbing out of bed and into the cool, dry air, she crossed the chilly tiles of their rented apartment following the sounds of hissing and frying. James, his ebony-skinned body as naked as hers, stood by the stove, a large cast-iron frying pan hissing as two slices of fish cooked inside.
Liao looked at the grid of scars across his back. She remembered how James had told her he’d gotten them during his stay with the Toralii Alliance. They had a large, square, metal mesh they would heat until it glowed and apply it directly to the skin. Torture was not a particularly effective method of interrogation as the prisoner would often say anything, true or not, to stop the pain, but apparently the Alliance engaged in the practice anyway. It was, as Saara had once explained to her, part interrogation, part punishmentn, and part pleasure for the jailers.
“How did she go down?” Liao sleepily draped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze and stroking his pectoral muscles. Both the cooking stove and James’s body warmed her.
“Pretty well, once she’d been fed. Right back to sleep.”
“That’s my girl. Is that fish?”
“Yup. You would not believe how much it costs in this country.” James deftly flipped each of the thick strips so the other sides were exposed to the heat. “I knew the American economy was still bad, but jeez. How do people afford to eat in this place?”
“They often don’t.” Liao squeezed him again, resting her cheek against his shoulders. “Things just haven’t been the same in this place since the great collapse. Things are looking up for the rest of the world, but… they’re still pretty dark for the U.S.”
The pan sizzled as the fish roasted, and Liao realised how hungry she was. “You haven’t cooked this before. Is it nearly done? I’m starving.”
James laughed, turning his head to rub his cheek against hers. “It hasn’t yet begun, love. Watch and learn. First, we apply a second helping of the garlic butter…”
Liao moved with James as he stepped to one side, reached for a sifter, poured in a small pouch of flour, and added a packet of salt. He sifted the mix into a plastic bowl, added half a cup of milk, and then whisked until completely mixed. Next, he tapped a tab of butter into the bowl and beat the mixture into a thick, creamy batter. A thick helping of maple syrup, poured out of a bottle emblazoned with a large Canadian flag, was the final ingredient.
“This is for the fish?” Liao stared curiously at the mixture. She was not a cook, somewhat by choice. She was expected, in the post-One-Child-Policy China, to grow to be a housewife… cooking, cleaning, fucking. But this was not a life for her. Somewhat defiantly, she had never learnt to cook, so the entire process was slightly alien to her.
“Are you kidding?” James twisted his head to look at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
She rolled her shoulders helplessly, casually pinching his nipple.
“Ow!”
She laughed, nipping his ear. “Don’t make fun of my inability to boil water, okay?”
“Right, right. You can blow up a city from orbit, but you can’t cook pancakes.”
Although the comment was made jovially, Liao immediately thought of Velsharn. The Telvan colony on Velsharn had shown her much kindness, particularly Qadan, their leader, who had shown her hospitality and whom she considered a friend. However, Ben, bent on revenge, had taken control of the Beijing and attacked them. On her monitors, she had watched her ship’s missiles plummet through the atmosphere, little falling stars that burst with a radiant light shining over the island, baking the inhabitants to crisps. She remembered walking through the ashes of that place with Kamal, finding Qadan’s scorched body and the seared bodies of the children…
Suddenly, the smell of sizzling fish lost its appeal.
“How about just pancakes for me, huh?”
James looked hurt, confused. “You don’t want my fish? It’s my famous garlic butter! This stuff is divine! It is the flesh of the gods, battered in elemental sex and roasted to perfection on this cheap electric stove. You have to try some.”
Liao felt nauseous. It felt like morning sickness but different. This was entirely emotional. “No. I’m sure it’s really good, but seriously, just pancakes for me.” She forced a smile, giving his bare chest a firm squeeze. “Make it a double helping.”
James seemed concerned for her, but he shrugged it off. “A double helping it is. More ultra-fish for me, I suppose.”
She reached down, slowly stroking his taut abdomen. “You’ll get fat,” she cautioned. “Then you’ll get thrown off your ship, too.”
James poured out the pancake batter with one hand, flipping the sizzling fish strips with the other. “Well, if I did get the boot, it would mean more sex, though. That’d be nice.”
“Wouldn’t it just.” Liao pursed her lips, resting her chin on his shoulder and rubbing it back and forth. “How… is the ship, anyway?”
“The Tehran or the Beijing?”
“The ship. My ship.”
James lifted the fish and flipped it again. “Commodore Vong is a fine CO,” he admitted. Liao tensed slightly but tried to keep herself under control. “But he’s no Liao. He’s more experienced at the command side of it, yes, and he actually gets his paperwork in on time, but he’s not as… elegant as you were when it came to command of a spaceship, nor as bold. The crew misses you, Saara in particular. Rowe mouthed off to him over some trivial matter and got herself replaced as the chief of engineering. She’s now just an ‘adviser’ and not very happy about it. Chang tore a muscle during one of the counter-insurgency drills and has been recovering for the last two months. Alex and Rowe split up again but then got back together. The Broadsword Switchblade was damaged in a training exercise and only just started flying again… so, you know. Same old, same old, really.”
“Nothing too serious, then. Glad to hear it. What about the Tehran? How’s your ship holding up?”
James put a wide frying pan on the second hot plate, letting it warm up. “Well, the alliance with the Kel-Voran has solidified, thanks to the efforts of the Sydney crew. We attacked an Alliance supply convoy headed for one of their shipyards and blew up a fairly impressive amount of tonnage, but that’s not the best part. Our marines captured a Toralii scout ship after the Beijing disabled its engines.”
Liao blinked, slowly raising her head. “I would have thought you’d mention that when I asked about the Beijing, but… wait. We took a Toralii ship?”
“Same configuration as Saara’s old vessel. We’ve rechristened her the Rubens. We’re using her and some ships from the Sydney to run black ops, wreaking havoc in the Toralii supply chain… Magnet’s leading the wing. Doing a pretty fine job, too.”
“Magnet?” The name triggered a memory of a pilot from the Sydney who was wounded in the assault on the Toralii mining colony. Captain Knight had told her the pilot was making a fine recovery; it seemed he’d survived his ejection and subsequent spacewalk just fine.
James reached out for a stick of butter, slowly smearing it over the empty frying pan. “Flight Lieutenant Mike Williams, call sign Magnet. Some hotshot from the Sydney. Ugly motherfucker, but he’s a great pilot. He was on the crew that negotiated with the Kel-Voran… Now he’s moving up in the world. Their ship is due back shortly, actually. With a bit of luck, you might be able to meet him.”
Liao gripped his shoulder, closing her eyes a moment. “I don’t think so. I’m nobody now, remember? I get the occasional television interview, and that’s it. Trust me, caring for our girl is a full-time job.”
There was a quiet pause as the butter began to melt. “I was thinking,” began James. “Did you like the name Jasmine?”
Jasmine. It was a nice name, but Liao shook her head. “Not really. It seems… pretentious.”
“My cousin’s named Jasmine.”
Liao yawned lazily, clicking her tongue. “Well, your cousin has a pretentious name then.”
“We have to decide sometime. She’s three months old. We can’t keep calling her ‘the baby.’ You have to give her a name soon. She’ll be talking before you know it.”
“James, I told you about this… Names are important to me. I can’t make this decision lightly.”
“I know. I’m happy to wait, but still… We should decide sooner rather than later.”
“Okay, okay, okay. We will.”
“Good.”
“Oh, someone’s writing a book about our ‘sexploits,’ by the way.”
James laughed as he gently greased the surface of the pan with a little extra butter. “Oh?”
“Mmm, a fictionalised version of us and our sordid, career-ending affair. She’s calling it Playing amongst the Stars. It’s some kind of steamy, erotic romance. We’re going to be superstars. The publisher asked for a raunchy photo for the cover, and I even got a call from a men’s mag asking for a naked shoot. They were paying pretty damn well, too: fifteen grand each.”
James snorted dismissively. He seemed, for a moment, to be offended. Liao reached around and touched his chin, turning his face to her.
“I said no to both of them. You know that, yeah?”
He smiled. “I know.” James reached for the batter, pouring out a pancake roughly fifteen centimetres wide. The smell of it cooking merged with the smell of the fish, helping to dampen the scent of roasted flesh, for which Liao was quietly grateful. Her hands idly explored James’s chest.
“So tell me more about this Rubens, then. I didn’t hear about that on the news.”
James smirked at her. “Of course you didn’t. Technically, that’s top secret, highly classified operating information that’d probably get me put up against a wall and shot if I told anyone, especially someone who was currently on leave.”
“Tell anyone what?” Liao smiled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul. If you get shot, I’ll be sad. Kind of. Who would cook for me then?”
He laughed, testing the pancake’s edge with the spatula. “Summer?”
“Phht. That lunatic would burn down my kitchen just to see what the flames looked like.”
“Saara?”
“Eh, she probably would. How’s she doing under Commodore Vong?”
James looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Saara transferred to the Tehran. She’s just finishing up some things in orbit, and then she’s going to come visit.”
Liao’s features brightened. “Well, you’re full of good news today.”
Liao slid her hand to James’s, taking the spatula and cutting off a piece off the pancake. She wiggled it under the fork and brought it up to her lips, blowing on it a few times before popping it into her mouth. “Not bad.” She swallowed.
“Just not bad? Phht. It’s my cooking. It’s always amazing.”
“Right, right.”
They ate for a time, laughing and joking, the hot pancakes burning their mouths. When their meal was consumed, James tugged her towards the shower, but Liao stopped him.
“You got the condoms, right?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Stop asking me that.”
Liao pointed toward the other bedroom where their infant was sleeping soundly. “Hey, you want another one of those? Do ya?”
He shook his head, and laughing, the two stepped into the bathroom.
Liao, cradling her infant, pulled open the door with a wide smile, barely able to keep her excitement in check. These days, she rarely received visitors, and even more rarely were they her friends making social calls.
“Come in, Saara. Please. Don’t mind the mess.”
The Toralii woman, flanked by two marines, stepped through the door. Liao moved out of the way for them, smiling incessantly. Her friend’s visit was highly anticipated; Liao had been pestering James to give her time off, and it had been granted, finally. Despite warning Saara of the mess, Liao had done her best to clean the apartment before her arrival and had even spent some money getting fresh flowers for the vase, something that cost a pretty penny.
[“Thank you, Commander.”]
Liao waved Saara’s guards away. “I’ll be okay with her; I promise.”
“Very well, Commander,” one answered. “We’re here for her protection, not yours. Commodore Vong thought having an unescorted Toralii wandering Earth could be detrimental to her safety.”
Liao was forced to agree with his assessment. “Well, she’s here now. Thank you.” She shut the door and then turned to Saara, beaming. “I was wondering when you were going to visit! Have they been keeping you busy, then?”
Saara bobbed her head. [“They have, yes. Captain Grégoire is a fair commander, but he expects much of those under his command.”]
“Well that’s good. Wouldn’t want you getting bored, then.”
[“Rest assured, Captain, I am not bored.”]
Something in Saara’s demeanour caused Liao a moment’s concern, a little voice nagging at the back of her head. She didn’t seem as happy as Liao had expected. Saara was usually a lot more excited to see her, a lot more energetic in her behaviour. She seemed reserved, more formal than usual, even distracted.
“Everything okay?” Liao asked. Saara gave a slow nod.
[“Yes, Captain Liao. I am well.”]
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You seem… really kind of distracted.”
[“I… I suppose this is true.”] Saara looked away a moment. [“To be honest with you, I had considered not coming at all. The deaths of the Telvan on Velsharn weigh heavily on me, I confess, and seeing your face causes those memories to resurface anew. It has made me reluctant to see you again since my appointment in your court.”]
Liao reached out and touched Saara’s fur-covered forearm. “I know. It hurts for me, too. I remember going down to the planet, seeing the devastation firsthand. But you know I didn’t want that to happen, don’t you? That wasn’t what I wanted.”
Saara hesitated for a moment and then looked back at Liao, her big yellow eyes unable to hide a profound regret and sorrow. [“I know,”] she said. [“However, I wish things had not turned out the way they had. So many dead… all innocent civilians who had done nothing wrong. And children.”]
“I wish it were different too.” Liao slowly nodded her head, forcing a sad smile. “But we’re here now. I wish I could have brought Qadan here and shown him Earth, but that was not to be. Sometimes fate deals us a harsh hand, and all we can do is try to make the best of what we have.”
[“I know, but that doesn’t quell the ache in my heart.”]
Liao adjusted her hold on the small infant, leaning in and wrapping an arm around Saara’s chest, giving her a tight hug. She buried her face in the fur of her shoulder, forcing herself to keep her breathing steady.
“I know,” Liao said. “Believe me, I know.”
A faint knocking on the door awoke her from her rest. Light filtered through the cracks in the curtains. She stretched, cracking her joints, before slipping out of bed. James hadn’t stirred yet. She gave his bare backside a gentle pat, pulled a towel off the floor, and headed for the door. She stepped through the kitchen to the foyer, passing a snoozing Saara on the couch. Determined to let at least someone in their apartment sleep, Liao pushed back the cover on the peephole to the outside.
A clean-cut, youthful-looking man in the uniform of the People’s Liberation Army Navy was standing there. A junior officer by his epaulets, a lieutenant.
“Hello?”
The man straightened his back. “Commander Liao?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Lieutenant Kang Tai, Commander. I’ve been assigned for your protection.”
Frowning, Liao blinked, eyeing the man through the peephole. “Protection? I didn’t request anything like that.”
“The request came directly from Commodore Vong, ma’am. Can you please open the door?”
Liao would have opened the door, but this event struck her as unusual. “Got some ID?”
“I’ll just get it out. Hang on.”
Moments later, a thin ID card was held up before the peephole. Lieutenant Kang Tai, People’s Liberation Army Navy, Military Police. The hologram looked authentic.
“One moment.”
She discarded the towel, picked up a set of jeans and a shirt, and then roughly shoved all the other clothes under the couch. She and James had not been expecting visitors, and it had been nice, she admitted, to discard the routine of dressing in the same clothes every day, especially now she was out of maternity wear.
Satisfied she was adequately dressed, she undid the latch on the door and turned the knob, opening it. “Please come in,” she offered, “but don’t mind the mess. We weren’t expecting visitors.”
Tai stepped through the threshold, smiling slightly. “It’s quite fine, ma’am.”
Liao raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Aren’t you going to say something in Chinese just so I can rebuke you and ask you to speak in English only?”
Tai laughed at that, rolling his eyes. “They warned me about your preference in languages, and I was specifically picked because of my English fluency. So no.”
She folded her arms, frowning. “Really?”
“They told me you wouldn’t be happy about me telling you that, either.”
“So far ‘they’ are two for two.” Liao shook her head. “I still don’t know why you’re here.”
“There was a threat against you. It came from the Kel-Voran embassy. I suppose there are downsides to being famous, ma’am.”
She raised an eyebrow curiously. “The one in Melbourne? I’m not sure I understand; what do the Kel-Voran have against me?”
“Nothing. The message was relayed through the Kel-Voran from the Toralii Alliance. Fleet Command believes the threat is credible, so they’ve assigned a guard to your person.”
Liao tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “This has absolutely nothing to do with the alien crashing on my couch?”
Tai shook his head emphatically. “No. Security’s vetted Saara. She’s not a threat.”
“Well, right. I’m not sure how an armed bodyguard will assist against the Toralii. Their method of assassination seems to be orbital bombardment, and while I’m sure you’re good at your job, I don’t think you can prevent that kind of thing. Takes a little more than pepper spray.”
Tai gave a firm nod. “No, you’re right of course…” His features brightened somewhat. “But the powers that be had to be seen to be doing something, which is why they sent me. Of course it’s all political, I’m afraid.”
Liao nodded. “Well, thanks for your honesty. I appreciate that.”
“They said you would.”
She tried—and failed—to keep her mouth closed. “I wish ‘they’ would put as much effort into finding out more about this supposed threat and avoiding unnecessary politics as they have into predicting my every move.”
Tai smiled an apologetic smile. “You and me both. Alas, we are but mortals, Captain.”
Liao waved her hand at that. “To be a captain, you have to have a ship. It’s just Commander now, but you know what? These days I’d prefer simply Melissa.”
“That’s a little informal, isn’t it?”
She gestured down to her jeans. “My official post in the People’s Army is Person of Interest to the Parade and Propaganda Unit. Literally, my job for the last six months has been to simply exist. I think I can throw away silly things like ranks and titles at this point.” Her voice softened slightly. “I’m not a captain anymore. I’m basically a civilian. Might as well act like it.”
“Very well, as you wish.” Tai stepped into the room, casually putting his hands into his pockets. “I’ll note that in my paperwork.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, you make sure you do. As well as the filthy state of my apartment, I suppose?”
Tai smiled. “Nah, that one can remain our secret, assuming you kept some of that scotch you were famous for having.”
“I kind of hoped I’d become famous for blowing up not one but two Toralii outposts, for winning hopeless battles against long odds… and for fucking another space captain.” She gave a deprecating smile. “Well, maybe not that last bit.”
“Unfortunately, you’re well known for all three. It’s an unfortunate problem in our media-driven society that one’s victories are forgotten and our defeats immortalised.”
“Yes, well, until we die. Then the process reverses itself; nobody can speak ill of the dead.”
“No, I guess not. So, scotch?”
Liao pointed toward the kitchen. “Top shelf, third one along. Pour me some while you’re at it; the baby will be awake soon.”
Tai stepped away to fetch the drinks, and Liao slumped into the seat beside her couch, glancing over at Saara, who seemed to be fast asleep. When Tai returned, she had nearly joined her Toralii friend in having a nap, but she accepted the drink without complaint. In seconds it was gone, and Liao savoured the burning feeling as it slipped down her throat.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s it like being in space?” asked Tai, sitting on the chair opposite hers, giving Saara a curious glance. Liao had become quite accustomed to the Toralii’s presence and sometimes forgot it would be startling for those who were not used to her.
“Huh?”
“Space. You were there, remember?” Tai leaned forward, cupping his drink with both hands. “What’s it like?”
“Hell.” Liao set down her empty cup with a clink of ice on glass. “Back in my day, they used to shoot you up there in a rocket. These days, you get a ride in a Broadswordd, but those old rockets didn’t have artificial gravity. I don’t know about you, but when I’m in zero gravity, my lunch usually makes a cameo appearance. When you get there, you’re crammed in with eight thousand crew, most of whom have somewhat lackadaisical attitudes towards bathing, and all of them treat you like some kind of surrogate parent to come crying to with every little detail. They fight, whine, fuck, get blind drunk, break things, get homesick, cry for their mummy, have affairs, suffer through their wives or husbands having affairss, get claustrophobic… They have every personal problem under the sun. They devolve into a kind of childlike state. The food is inedible, the paperwork endless, and the job tiresome. You don’t get much sleep, and unlike a real ship, you can’t just go out and take a walk—it’s mighty cold out there. You live in a highly oxygenated environment so your fitness suffers, and due to being surrounded by the void and being millions of kilometres away from anywhere, it’s dangerous. People call on you at every time of day and night, and your life revolves around the operations room. There’s a constant threat of alien attack—aliens who, might I add, significantly outclass you, outnumber you, outgun you. You never see your family. It’s intensely lonely, and when you come back from doing the impossible, they throw you in a court martial. And did I mention the pay is terrible?”
He laughed. “Eh, the pay’s okay. Beats my old job, working IT for the coal mines.” Tai swished his drink. “So why did you do it?”
Liao tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling, silent for a moment. “Because it was the best job I’ve ever had.”
“You realise how insane that sounds, right?”
She nodded, instinctively reaching for the empty glass but then putting it back down. “Yeah.” Liao laughed, shaking away her memories. “Doesn’t make it untrue, though. It’s… a wonderful opportunity, despite its hardships. I think that year in space was probably the best of my life, and I did a damn good job, too. I think it really was my calling. It was something I could do really well. I was born to be the captain of that ship. It was the best thing I’d ever done, and I was good at it.” She cast her eyes to the door hiding her sleeping infant. “Better captain than I am a mother, I think.”
Tai drank the last of his drink. “I don’t know anything about that, really. She’s still alive; that would indicate you’ve done just fine.”
“Maybe.”
“You really haven’t named your kid?”
“Nope.” An edge of annoyance crept into her tone. “I’ve already had this discussion with James, and it’s really something we should sort out ourselves.”
Tai held up a hand. “Of course. I’m merely saying, it’s very odd. And the press is really curious about why you’re doing it. I think they’re guessing it’s some kind of ploy to throw them off.”
“The press can go fuck themselves. I—we—haven’t decided on a good name yet, and that’s all I have to say. In time, she’ll have the most beautiful and perfect name, but right now… we’re not ready.”
The door to their bedroom swung open with a faint creak. James stepped, naked, into the foyer.
Liao pointed over her shoulder. “James, Mister Tai. Mister Tai, naked James.”
“Nice to meet you,” James mumbled, yawning as he stretched.
Tai did a double take, but James seemed too tired to care, simply shrugging and walking into the kitchen. “Does he normally do that?” Tai asked.
“We haven’t had much time to sleep, what with the baby needing attention every few hours or so,” Liao said, “and we don’t get many visitors.”
Tai grimaced slightly. “Captain Grégoire is supposed to be resting during his shore leave.”
“A recognised part of shore leave is to spend time with family,” Liao countered. “And besides, it’s good for his morale.”
Tai laughed, nodding. “Right, right. And I probably shouldn’t be telling captains what to do with their time.”
Liao waved a hand. “Whatever. I told you; it’s fine.”
Tai peered at her for a moment as though confused by the surprising informality and then seemed to remember something, snapping his fingers. “Well, actually, there was another thing, too. Captain de Lugo was hoping to visit sometime in the next couple months, as he will be in town inspecting some of the gear scheduled to be put in the TFR Madrid.”
The name rang a bell. Putting that thought aside for a moment, Liao raised an eyebrow. “They finished that thing?”
“Not quite. It’s spaceworthy, but a lot of the systems haven’t been installed: flight control, jump navigation, fighter launch subsystems. It has rail guns though, apparently, according to the news.”
“No nukes?” she asked. The Triumph-class ships, such as the Beijing and the Madrid, carried warheads tipped with nuclear devices. Although the rail guns had substantially more effective range due to their higher speed, and conventional thought had anticipated that the vast distances found in space combat would render more conventional weapons useless, the reality was space warfare took place at extremely close quarters. The same problem was observed when aircraft started to carry long-range missiles in the Vietnam war; although an F4 Phantom could destroy a Soviet MiG from up to twenty miles away, matters of identification and the unreliability of missiles meant that close-range dogfighting was the most common form of engagement. This process of relearning lessons the armed forces of the world had already learnt was painful but progressing rapidly.
“Not yet. Apparently they’re being installed fairly soon-ish; there’s hope that the Madrid can join the Sydney on its next operation. There’s talk of pairing the two ships on a more permanent basis so they can project more force as a unit.”
Although the Sydney had suffered the worst, all of the first three Pillars of the Earth had endured various system malfunctions and instabilities during their initial shakedown cruises. She hoped the worst of the issues would be resolved for the new breed of ships. “Good.”
[“Mister Tai,”] came a voice from the couch. Saara pulled herself up into a sitting position, giving a yawn that displayed a wide array of very sharp teeth. [“Apologies, but I felt I could pretend to be asleep no longer.”] She smiled to the guard, a genuine smile, but one Liao thought was somewhat guarded. [“I am Saara.”]
“A pleasure.” Tai nodded politely. “I’ve read your file. Although I must confess; my Toralii language is not very good. I’m sorry.”
Saara shuffled somewhat uncomfortably, looking at Liao. [“I must confess, I served in a humble position when I was with the Telvan. I am unused to celebrity and having my name be known to every stranger. I am not sure I can ever become accustomed to it.”]
“You and I both,” said Liao. Seeing Tai’s confused look, Liao repeated what Saara had said in English.
James wandered back out, turned down the corridor, then disappeared into the laundry room. Tai discreetly drank until James returned, moments later, now wearing a pair of ill-fitting pants and a shirt.
“So who’s this Mister Tai, then?”
Liao grimaced slightly. “My bodyguard, apparently.”
“You requested a bodyguard?”
Tai gave an apologetic smile. “No, Captain, it wasn’t her. Commodore Vong did.”
Liao reached out and patted James on the thigh. “I told him to call me Melissa. You should probably do the same thing, or it’ll get awkward.”
James seemed less enthusiastic about it but reluctantly nodded his head. “Right. Call me Melissa, too.”
The four of them laughed, and Tai nodded. “Right, right. Melissa and Melissa. Got it.”
Liao smiled, and then the baby started to cry again, so she eased herself out of her chair, giving James a reassuring pat as he put his head in his hands.
Tai stood guard the first night he arrived, having spent the remainder of the day sweeping their apartment for bugs, surveying the entrances and exits, and determining vantage points for snipers. Liao thought the process entirely unnecessary, but she understood he was just doing his job.
In the evening, after Liao had fed their infant and was preparing to crawl back into bed again, her phone rang with a blocked number. Curious, for she did not receive many calls, Liao fished it out of her pocket and answered.
“喂?”
A faint hiss came over the line, indicating it was open, but Liao could hear nothing on the other end. “Hello?” She tried, moving to the window to get better reception.
“My, my, my,” came a low voice, English accented and articulate, “I didn’t think Melissa Liao would answer her phone in Chinese.”
The voice was instantly known to her. It brought back a surge of memories, none pleasant. With that familiar spike of excitement, fear, and anger, she felt, just for a moment, as though she were back in command of her ship, as if she were still the officer and commander she once had been.
The voice of Ben.
“You’re alive?”
Ben’s hollow laughter filtered down the speaker. “Of course, my dear Melissa. Your jump drive carried me safely away.”
“How did you get this number? How the hell are you communicating with me?”
“The advantage of having a jump drive that can take you anywhere, Melissa, is that you can go anywhere. Tautologies like this are typically useless, but they illustrate my point. Your species believes, bumbling and ignorant as they are, that they have this whole system secured… but nowhere is safe from me. I go wherever I wish.”
“I’m glad for your newfound freedom.” She gripped her phone tightly. “What do you want?”
Another faint, hollow laugh. “Just to chat, my dear friend. Don’t you have time to talk to me?”
“Not after Velsharn, not after what you’ve done.”
“Oh, Melissa, you wound me so. I’ve been so busy since we last spoke, but it’s wonderful to hear your voice again.”
Liao fought to keep her tone even. “I have nothing to say to you. Goodbye, Ben. Don’t call again.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way because important things are happening. Big things. But… don’t worry, Commander. I’ll see you soon.”
“No, you won’t.”
Liao ended the call and then, slowly and deliberately, placed the phone in her pocket. She stared out the window of her apartment, watching the headlights of cars and the lights of the city, fighting a vague sense of foreboding and trying to contain her wild imagination.
A faint knock on her door broke her from her musings. [“Is everything okay?”] came Saara’s voice. [“I heard your communicator, and you sounded angry…”]
Distracted and half-asleep, Liao had entirely forgotten that the Toralii was there. “No, it’s fine,” she answered. “Just a prank caller.”
[“Very well. Sleep well, Liao.”]
Liao smiled at the closed door and looked out at the lights of the city. “Thank you, Saara.”