Prisoner Exchange
*****
Cargo Bay
TFR Knight
Velsharn L1 Lagrange point
EVERY PREPARATION HAD BEEN MADE. The Knight was teaming with soldiers. Nerve gas canisters were deployed in critical junctions along the ship, and the Humans involved were inoculated—a painful injection which Liao resented but was grateful for. It disguised the itching on her arm.
The construct spun a plasma-pistol add-on for her arm, and Saeed installed it. Liao could not tell the difference, apart from a difference in weight.
Saeed cautioned her not to activate it, and she took that advice to heart.
In the cargo bay, two full rehearsals were performed, including fire drills and boarding and counterboarding actions. The prisoners were restrained by heavy manacles.
If the Toralii fired on them, the entire fleet would annihilate the hostile ship. If more ships jumped in, preset nukes would detonate, destroying them. If there were any signals, they would be jammed immediately.
If, if, if.
Almost a full day later, a contact appeared in the L1 Lagrange point. Code phrases were exchanged, proof of life was sent, and a video uplink established.
Eight Humans appeared, fuzzy and indistinct on the monitor but Humans nonetheless. They wore a mismatch of uniforms: some South Korean Marines, an American, an Iranian. The others were harder to make out.
The only time she truly felt nervous was when the docking umbilical attached itself to the cargo-bay airlock. Computerised scans checked and double checked—no gas, no biological agents, no harmful materials.
Still, of course, they took no chances and kept their airlock closed.
The Toralii prisoners were arranged on either side of her, four to the left and four to the right, with Crewman First Rank Kkezi being the closest on her left. Cheung and her Marines stood guard behind and beside them, boxing the prisoners in close.
Liao wanted the leader to be next to her in the event of any trouble.
A final, completely redundant set of scans was completed on the umbilical, and a large monitor in the cargo bay lit up. Their techs had set up a link to the Toralii ship on the other side, one heavily protected by firewalls, software locks, and encryption. It could only send and receive audio and video, nothing more.
In the dim glow of the monitor, she could see the Human prisoners. They were led out one by one. Each was a mirror of the Toralii standing in chains: hungry, dirty, eyes downcast. The only difference between the two was the profound welts, bruises, and other injuries present on the Humans. One common type, in particular, stood out for her: waffles. Grids of scars crisscrossed their backs, as though a hot mesh had been pressed to their skin.
Eerily, those were the exact kinds of marks present on James’s back, the same kind of torture he’d said he’d received during his time in Cenar.
Liao’s blood boiled, but she said nothing.
The eight Humans came to a halt, two barely in frame on the edges of the camera.
[“Kneel,”] commanded the Toralii Marine. On the other side of the thick glass, the Humans, casting confused glances at each other, knelt on the metal deck.
The hair on the back of Liao’s neck stood up. Something about the situation screamed odd to her. They had prepared for every possible treason, every betrayal. She forced herself to calmness, reminding herself that she was safe.
[“Commander Liao,”] said the Marine commander, her face obscured by the standard liquid-metal visor that all their Marines wore. Her voice was a low, angry snarl. [“I was not sure you would come in person.”]
“The health and welfare of my men is extremely important to me,” she said. It was also important to the continuation of their species, but she chose to omit that detail. “I will see to the matter personally. We have brought our prisoners, as was the agreement. I see you have brought yours.”
[“As was the agreement,”] said the Marine. [“I noticed all the precautions you have taken, Captain. How exciting.”]
Liao ignored the barbs. “Let us make the exchange.” She nodded to Kkezi beside her. “This is Crewman First Rank Kkezi. He is the highest-ranking member of the prisoners we are willing to turn over to you. I will ask him to choose one of their member to be transferred across first, as a gesture of goodwill.”
Kkezi’s decision was immediate. [“Airmaiden Jara’s wounds are still serious. They need treatment. I elect her for the first transfer.”]
The wounded Toralii female flashed a grateful smile to her CO. Liao took the key from her belt and unlocked Jara’s chains. Limping and favouring her left leg, Jara shuffled past the red line in the centre of the room, into the airlock. It closed, hissing as it pressurised, then the other side opened to permit her into the umbilical between the two ships. Liao watched her retreat through the tiny glass window. Jara stepped into the Toralii side of the airlock and was gone.
A tense silence followed. The Toralii Marines in their suits did nothing. Jara appeared on the screen, her bonds were cut off, and she limped away out of sight.
“As we have established goodwill,” said Liao, “it is now time for you to return our prisoners. You may do so one at a time if you wish. We have eight remaining, you have eight. This seems fairest. When they cross the threshold to our ship, they will be placed into quarantine.”
[“Quarantine?”] The Toralii laughed mirthfully, but it was a cold, empty laugh. [“Captain Liao, I assure you, that will not be necessary.”]
“With the greatest of respect,” she said, “I will decide what is necessary or not with regard to the prisoner transfers.”
[“Why don’t I show you such things aren’t necessary?”]
As if following some unseen cue, the other Marines moved behind the Human prisoners, rifles in hand. The Marine commander touched the side of her helmet, revealing her face. She had patchy white-and-black fur, and her lips were curled into a dark, unhappy scowl.
“If you wish,” said Liao. “Although I doubt very much you can change my mind on this. Especially as you have made a point of saying it is unnecessary.”
[“Very well,”] the Toralii Marine on the screen said, moving directly behind the leftmost prisoner, a youthful Iranian man with his head lowered.
The Toralii drew her pistol and blasted the prisoner’s head into chunks.
Liao barely had a chance to protest, to do anything except gasp in alarm. In a blur of motion, the other Toralii Marines raised their rifles and, in a flash of plasma fire, blew their remaining prisoners to charred ashes.
Stunned silence.
[“I am so very glad you came in person,”] said the Marine, her tone icy, [“so you can see with your own eyes the penalty for standing against us.”]
Liao’s hands became fists which shook at her sides. She glared at the monitor as though she could burn the Toralii Marines to death with her stare. “You realise we will destroy your ship for this,” she said.
[“Of course.”]
More silence. The cargo bay was flooded with red light as, somewhere on the ship, someone sounded an alarm.
Not yet. Her anger boiled over.
“Kneel,” Liao commanded to those behind her.
Kkezi emitted a faint, shocked hiss. Nothing happened for a moment until—gradually and quietly—the Toralii prisoners, one by one, slid down to their knees.
“Lieutenant Yanmei Cheung,” Liao said, her gaze locked on the monitor, staring directly into the eyes of the Toralii female on the visiting ship, every word clearly articulated. “On my authority, execute these prisoners.”
“Rifles ready,” said Cheung, a faint tremor in her voice.
Click-click. The bolts on a dozen rifles were pulled back and rounds chambered.
“Aim.”
Liao’s eyes flicked down to Kkezi. He looked up at her, terrified, his pupils wide as saucers, all his fur standing on end. He said nothing and simply stared, shaking slightly, and Liao stared back.
[“It is war,”] he said simply.
She gripped her console tightly, giving herself time to retract the order.
“Fire.”
A deafening staccato roar, a dozen gunshots all at once, stole the light from his eyes. Crewman First Rank Kkezi slumped forward, exposing a blooming purple flower on his back. His blood gushed out onto the deck, pooling with the other Toralii growing out to kiss her boots.
The Toralii Marine on the monitor had seen the whole thing. If she felt any reaction at all, that was not clear on her face. [“You should never underestimate our resolve,”] she said.
“Nor you ours.” Liao stabbed a finger out and closed the connection. The monitor went dark. On the other side of the airlock, the umbilical detached. She slapped her radio.
“Liao to Operations. Destroy the opposing ship. Signal the Washington, Rubens, Madrid, and Beijing: launch all strike craft, charge hull plating, engage and destroy the hostile ship to the best of your ability.”
“This is Sabeen. Copy all. Relaying and engaging.”
The ship lurched. Liao turned and, wet boots thumping on the deck, made purple footprints on her way to the door.
“Captain,” said Cheung, her voice cracking. “What do we do with the bodies?”
“Flush them into space,” Liao spat without turning around as she left, power-walking to Operations.
The Toralii ship was torn to shreds. Liao watched the whole thing from the Knight’s Operations room. Railgun slugs, missiles, and autocannon rounds pounded the ship in waves, blasting hunks of metal off into space until the bare bones of her skeleton was revealed. Even as a corpse-ship with barely any atmosphere, the fleet fired and fired. Every missile that struck, every cannon shell that exploded on its surface, was a brilliant flower in the inky blackness of space.
Soon, there was nothing but hunks of debris, a slowly expanding cloud that grew thinner and thinner, and the guns stopped.
They had just wanted her to see that they were serious. The Toralii Alliance kept those men alive for all those months, simply so that—far in the future at an indeterminate time—they could make a statement about their willingness to be completely ruthless.
It seemed that the Toralii Alliance would keep people alive if they could be useful.
When the General Quarters call was rescinded and the clean-up and salvage operation began—not that there was much of anything to salvage, she noted—Liao could no longer stand to be in Operations. The sight of the faint twinkling of debris floating in space mocked her.
She initially stalked through the ship, angry and muttering to herself, until she ended up outside a former recreational hall that had been repurposed into a Marine barracks.
There was only one person in there: Cheung, sitting in the far corner by herself, a half-empty bottle of scotch in her hand.
“Hey,” said Liao. She leaned against the inside of the door. “Glad to see you have nice taste in drinks.”
“I’ve decided to try it,” Cheung said sardonically. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
Liao took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing. I just want to see if you’re okay. Truth be told, I could stand to talk to someone about… recent events.”
“Fine,” said Cheung. “I can talk.” She drank again, downing a mouthful of the high-proof alcohol with ease. “I was just thinking about the riot on Earth during the evacuation.”
A panicked scramble to leave a burning world. People had rushed the ships. They had been… repelled. “Mmm. Not our proudest moment, but the people were swarming the ship. We had a hard limit… I know this is exactly not what you want to hear right at this moment, but that was necessary. We needed to clear them away from the airlock.”
“I know.”
The screams of the dying filtered back to her, their ghosts reminding her of their pain. “We tried warning shots.”
“I know.”
“The people on the ground were dead anyway.” It was true. The area was hit moments afterward. The suffering would not have lasted long.
Small comfort.
“Mmm hmm.” Cheung swigged from the bottle. “Yeah. Oh, I know that. I’d mostly made my peace with that.”
“So why are you thinking about it?”
“Because,” she said, “I’m not sure I can deal with today. And I’m not sure what that means, if I’m happy with myself killing off Human beings but can’t deal with Toralii prisoners who were—let’s face it, based on their escape record—probably just looking for their next chance to try and get away and try murder us again.”
“Yeah,” said Liao. “They probably were.”
“So why do I feel really bad about it and really okay with shooting a bunch of folks in Texas?”
Liao thought about that for a bit.
“Everyone wants there to be a good guy,” said Liao, echoing Kamal’s earlier words. “In the first case, you had a clear case of right and wrong. Those guys were in the wrong, and you were in the right. This time… well, this is a dirty war, an ugly war, and it’s going to get uglier. We’re going to get badder, and they’re probably going to get gooder, I guess, and if you want easy solutions and clear boundaries between right and wrong, I don’t think you should stay in this game.”
“I don’t think so either.” Cheung smiled a clearly forced smile and slowly, deliberately screwed the bottle’s cap back on. She used the arm which had been horribly scarred during their initial confrontations with the Toralii. Even those days, veins of scar tissue seemed to run down the whole length, as if worms had been eating at her still-living flesh. “Thank you for coming to see me, Captain, but I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Captain, I’m drunk enough to go make a pass at Keller and see if I can get into that blond German babe’s pants. That’s pretty damn drunk. And if I’m thinking about sex, that means I’m at least something approximating okay.” Cheung smirked at her, waggling the bottle by the neck. “Besides, the guest quarters are really freaking nice, compared to the racks we have down here. As the head of Marines, I get my own room, technically. Is nice.”
Satisfied, Liao bobbed her head. “Very well, then. Just promise me you’ll go see Doctor Saeed when you have a moment. He’s great to talk to about this kind of thing.”
Cheung inclined her head thoughtfully. “Sure, Captain. I definitely will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Liao asked one more time. “And you’re going to be okay?”
Cheung locked eyes with her and, tone serious, stood up. “Yes, Captain. I promise.”
Liao wasn’t sure if Cheung was fine. It was okay to not be one hundred percent—after something like that, it would be odd if someone was—but, at the very least, Liao knew Cheung would recover. She was strong.
Liao was not that strong. She borrowed a headset from the Operations team, retreated to the temporary quarters assigned to her, and made a call.
“Hey,” said James, his voice soft. “Sorry it didn’t go well.”
“It didn’t go horribly.” Liao put her forehead in her hands. The cool metal of the prosthetic was soothing to her forehead. “Apart from our prisoners—who until recently we had assumed were all dead on Belthas IV anyway—nobody on our side died.” She blew out a long, exhausted sigh. “That’s the worst thing, James. They sent a whole ship and crew to us to be killed, just to make a point. That Toralii—there was a Marine who was there, who shot the first prisoner and started all of this—she knew. I looked in her eyes, and I knew she knew what this mission was about. She knew she came here to die.”
“Yeah.” James paused as he gathered his thoughts. The only thing she could hear was a faint static on the line. “You’re probably second-guessing everything now.”
“Something like that. Had a chat with Cheung about it—I’m feeling a bit better, and hopefully she is too. She’s drowning it in scotch and promises of hot German kinkiness, but honestly, I really feel she’s hurting. I want her to see Doctor Saeed when we’re done here, and I told her as much.”
“A reaction like that is normal,” said James. “When I got back from Cenar, I had a lot of counselling. We went over a lot of stuff. It was really helpful. It’s a shame we don’t have access to those facilities anymore… although we should look into that.”
“Mmm.” Liao nibbled on her lower lip. She thought of John. “Yeah. We need more… normal things. Comedians. Movies. This kind of thing. We’ve got our basic needs out of the way—food, water, shelter—we need to move a little higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.”
“Aye,” said James. Liao could sense his smile over the radio line. “Some stand-up on Fridays would be good.”
“Yeah.” She enjoyed a bit of the silence, but the echo of the gunshots and the vision of Avaran’s burned face returned to her mind’s eye. “Dammit, James. Why are they such dicks?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said James. “It’s just what it is. Can’t bring our men back to life… or theirs. We can just be glad for what they’ve taught us.”
“Glad?” Liao grimaced. “They were trying to teach us a lesson. I don’t think I want to accept it.”
“Not that one,” said James. “I meant more generally. Any decision I make in command of this ship, I make a hundred times. I make it when my XO makes the same decision after serving with me for years. I make it when the junior lieutenant at Operations gets promoted to captain and makes the same decision. What I decide, every second of every day, is passed along to others. I make the decisions I make because of how my superiors made them when they were in command of me. And when someone leaves the service, those lessons will still remain with them and be passed along to their children, too. That’s a huge, unfathomable responsibility, and if you think about it too long, it’ll eat you up—but the truth of the matter is, all you can do is do the best you can, with what you have right now. If you freak out, break down, stress about something that’s right in front of you, you’re teaching those around you that it’s okay to do that. It’s a subconscious thing. If you’re strong, though, they’ll feel stronger when faced with the same challenges. This is how we grow.”
It was all true, and Liao had no way of refuting it.
“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “You’re right.”
“As usual,” said James, his tone playful.
Liao snorted.
More silence.
Finally, Liao spoke. “The thing is… there’s something odd about this, and I knew it from the moment I saw it. It wasn’t them shooting the prisoners though—granted, I wasn’t expecting them to straight up murder our men without even the attempt at a fair prisoner exchange, but I don’t mean that—I mean…” She turned her thoughts over and over in her head. “It’s out of character for them.” She put a prosthetic finger to her chin. “The Toralii Alliance destroyed Sydney, Beijing, Tehran. Then they came back later and roasted the rest of the planet. They’ve shown that they don’t mess around… they aren’t the kind who send idle warning after warning. They’ve sent other species extinct, or near enough to. They aren’t the kind of folks who ‘send messages’ or bluster or, as Avaran correctly noted before he croaked, do prisoner exchanges. There’s only one answer as to why they don’t just come and finish us off: they can’t.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“I hadn’t either,” said Liao, “until today. Maybe their display really is going to teach us something.”
“Maybe.”
She could hear James stifling a yawn over the line.
“Let’s sleep on it,” she said. “Can you come visit?”
“Can’t,” said James. “Believe me, I want to, but I can’t.”
She smiled, fiddling with the microphone. “I do have private quarters over here.”
“You know,” he said, “maybe there is a way…”
She hadn’t had proper sex like that in a long, long time. After she’d been burned and the side of her face scarred, she didn’t think she ever would again.
James, though, clearly had other plans.
They cuddled together in the warm, damp sheets laid over a slightly-too-small-for-two bed. She was comfortable and safe, and everything was going to be okay. Allison was safe with Penny only a couple of rooms down, the Alliance were reluctant to strike outside of stupid gestures, and she had her command.
She had James, too, if only for a little while.
She slept like the dead, waking only when her radio buzzed.
“Hi, Captain?” Penny’s voice came through the line. “This is Operations. Just checking everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s fine,” said Liao, groggy from oversleeping. She yawned and stretched out, surprised by the space she had. James had gone. Liao felt vaguely guilty she hadn’t done the same. She had probably missed her shift—not good for a CO to do—but Kamal had always covered for her. “Why?”
“You were in there for a while.”
Liao laughed, flicking her hair back like a schoolgirl with her free hand. “Yeah, well, I had a good time.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Penny sounded confused. “Anyway, Captain, the Beijing is asking for you.”
Well, the break had been good while it lasted. “Work, work.” She stretched. “Okay. Tell them I’m on my way back. Prepare the Piggyback, and make sure Lieutenant Cheung is on board. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Of course. Operations out.”
She stretched out her prosthetic, grimacing as the itch returned.
Spending time with James had been helpful, but even long after, just thinking about the execution of the prisoners created a surge of anger in her, the kind of anger where daydreams floated through her mind, images of going up and hurting the guy herself, and liking it. She dressed to the ugly mental images.
The itch turned to an ache. Being injured by someone considered an enemy was one thing, but this was different; it was pain that made her feel wronged on a personal level. She had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to cooperate, and it only provoked disproportionate, even suicidal, response.
Pain gave her focus, and dressed, she left for the hanger bay, a renewed anger in her step, anger she channelled to useful purpose.
They had gone too far. Too far.
There could never be peace.
It was time to make the Toralii hurt.