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  *****

  Docking Umbilical

  TFR Beijing

  Mars/Jupiter Asteroid Belt

  Four weeks later

  THE TFR TEHRAN DOCKED WITH the Beijing, the first time the great pillars had ever physically joined. Liao made her way to the docking umbilical. She was afforded the captain’s privilege of being the first to disembark from the vessel.

  From the moment she stepped off the cold steel of the Beijing’s decks, she was accosted by a throng of reporters who fought and shoved to be the first to question her.

  “Captain Liao! Captain Liao! Shreya Bose from IMC-TV, may I—”

  “队长，你能不能告诉诉我们任何有关外星人—”

  “Any words for the people back home, Commander Liao—”

  “Captain Liao, what can you tell me about Commander Sheng—”

  “A word for the BBC, Captain—is it true the Beijing was nearly destroyed?”

  “Captain, is it true you are keeping an alien warrior as a prisoner in your bri—”

  She held up her hands to silence the din. Staring down the business ends of dozens of microphones, recorders, lights, and video cameras thrust in her face, Liao squinted to see.

  She cursed Sheng's squealing hide. The press were here because of him.

  “One at a time, one at a time… okay. First of all, I can say that it’s very heartening to see that the Tehran was able to meet us in the asteroid belt, and—”

  The voices all sprang up again, shouting over each other to be heard. Liao stepped back, briefly overwhelmed, until a booming voice cut through the din.

  “Attention, everyone! Your attention please. Thank you. Now, a press conference will be held at 0930 hours, Zulu time, in the main conference room on deck ten. Absolutely no questions will be answered until then. Captain Liao and her crew are very tired, and they need rest. Answers will come, but unfortunately they will come later.”

  Liao peered past the bright lights of reporters’ video cameras and spotted a familiar face. James! Smiling widely, the man took Liao’s hand in his and—quite roughly—shouldered his way through the wolf pack of hungry reporters, leading her further into the belly of the Tehran. Despite James clearing the way, the reporters followed, proving utterly undeterrable, like predators stalking a wounded beast, until James lead her directly to his quarters and locked the door, closing the decompression seal with a hiss.

  She gathered herself and took a breath. “Thanks, James.”

  They stood there in silence, arm in arm, until he finally broke the tension.

  “Quite the adventure you’ve had, or so I’ve heard.”

  She laughed, somewhat reluctantly disentangling herself from him, and grinned ruefully. She took off her hat and carefully hung it on his hat rack.

  “Yes, quite. Why did you let them on board?”

  He shrugged, unbuttoning his jacket and throwing it over a chair. “I didn’t have a choice. TFR Command said that the Battle of Jupiter—that’s what they call it these days, you know—was a huge publicity and recruitment victory, and they want to milk it for all it’s worth. Unfortunately, that means you’ll have to face them sooner rather than later but…”—he grinned— “not today.”

  “Smashing. Looking forward to that. On a related note, got any of that quality scotch left?”

  “For you, old friend, of course I do… even if I have to fly back to Earth to get it myself.”

  “If you do that, your arms will get pretty sore,” she observed, winking.

  He laughed. “Perhaps, although I’m remarkably fit, so I doubt it’ll be much of a problem for me. Anyway, have a seat. I’ll get you whatever we have left.”

  Sinking into his wide couch with a relieved sigh, Liao felt the stress of her encounter with the reporters slowly melt away. Grégoire certainly had an excellent sense of both style and function; the cushions were relaxing and comfortable, and as soon as she eased herself into them, she realized how tired she was. Based on his sympathetic grin as he returned with the promised glasses of scotch, her exhaustion was readily painted on her face.

  “You look as though you could use two of these,” he observed, handing her the glass. His eyebrows rose in surprise as she immediately upended the small glass, its golden liquid disappearing down her throat in seconds.

  “More like two dozen.” A series of rough coughs followed her words, the consequence of downing so much hard liquor in so short a time.

  Grégoire sat opposite her, his dark hands on his knees.

  “I heard you had Sheng relieved of his position.”

  “I did, yes.”

  His voice was sympathetic. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  Her voice held a certain gravity that gave weight to her statement. “It was not, no. Sheng helped me a lot when I first took command… helped me settle into my role as captain far better than I would have without him. I trusted him despite not knowing him all that well, and all the time he was envious of my position. It’s… a little shocking, and I think that’s why I didn’t take what happened too well.”

  “How did you take it?”

  “Heh, I punched him in the face. Pretty good, too, lots of blood.”

  He refilled her drink, and their glasses met with a light clink. “That’s the way,” he offered encouragingly. “I’ve always said that if you’re going to hit someone, you might as well make it good. No sense half-arsing it; give it to him right in the nose!”

  She laughed. “That’s exactly what I did!”

  “Excellent.” He paused, regarding her. “So, after he’s learned his lesson, got his face fixed up, and spent some time in the brig, will you allow him to return to duty?”

  Liao’s levity slowly evaporated. She tilted her glass, shaking her head. “No. He blew his chance. There are plenty of other officers champing at the bit to serve on my ship. I’ll give the position to someone who will do it justice.”

  Grégoire frowned, nodding. “That’s your prerogative, but I’ve got to ask… Sheng’s record is—well was, before this—very good. He was a career officer, and most everyone who’s served with him has had good things to say.” James tipped his glass, sipping absently. “So what’s going to happen to him now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess he’ll be reassigned to a surface vessel. In the meantime, I wanted to drag him out of the brig and put him to use, so I had him assigned to prisoner escort; he’ll be walking with Saara as they move her around the ship.”

  “He won’t like that. He’s prideful and ambitious. But anyway, as I said, it’s your choice. Still, it’s a pity about what happened. A lot of people aren’t happy about it from what I hear. He has influential family.”

  “I know”—Liao poured another glass and took a hearty swig—“but I had to do it. I don’t have any regrets on that front. About plenty of other stuff, but not about that.”

  Grégoire gave her a sideways glance. “Seems as though you’re drinking a lot for someone who’s convinced she made the right choice.”

  She glared at him, and he held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know. I’ve hit the sauce more than a few times myself after a hard day, but you’re going at it like a woman on a mission… especially since half the fleet considers you a war hero, someone who stood up to the aliens and won.”

  “What about the other half?”

  Liao stared across at him and swirled the drink, already feeling light-headed. She felt her face flush red—not from embarrassment but from the first glass of booze entering her system. She wondered if, subconsciously, she really was having second thoughts about Sheng.

  He leaned forward slightly. “Let’s not talk about the other half. It suffices to say… there’s a certain element of the task force who feels you overstretched yourself in the engagement, that you should have waited. That it was an unacceptable risk and that you endangered yourself, your ship, and your crew unnecessarily. That you gambled everything and, yes, it paid off, but we didn’t get anything particularly valua
ble, and we could have lost everything.”

  Liao gave a snort. “That’s it?”

  “Well, of course, there’s the fact you keep the alien around like a pet instead of giving it a bullet in the brain then airlocking the body.”

  There was a heavy silence at this point as Grégoire waited patiently for her to ask the question that he knew she was going to ask. Finally, it came.

  “What do you think?”

  He considered, bringing his hand to his chin.

  “You could say I’m sitting on the fence. I support your command, Melissa. You’re smart, tactically orientated, and very pretty, and you take risks. But… I also think that Sheng did have a point in some way. It was a risky move back there, engaging the scout ship, and there wouldn’t have been any harm done if you had let it go. Yes, it might have reported back, but that would have taken some time, and now any chance of diplomacy with them is probably gone. Plus, well, they’re bound to come looking for their lost ship eventually.”

  Seeing her disapproval, he smiled at her. “Still, I believe that when it comes to the command of men in combat, fortune favours the bold.”

  Pretty? Grégoire thought she was pretty? Despite everything he had said about her and her command, those were the words that stuck in the forefront of her mind.

  Despite herself, she felt a warm flush, this time not from the extremely high-proof scotch. Liao was highly amused by the idea that she was into her thirties now and, as the man himself had said, a war hero, but a few kind words from Grégoire could get her blushing like a schoolgirl. She let a smile play over her lips, nodding her head a little as though she had heard everything else he had said.

  “Fortune favours the bold. They do say that.”

  She mused to herself, playing that little saying over and over in her mind… did James really think that? She took a breath, grinning. “So you really think I’m pretty?”

  Although she feared he would react poorly, he didn’t seem flustered but just leaned forward on his chair. “Well, I think you’d have to be blind to miss it,” he admitted, giving a wide, friendly smile, “and I think we had established that your prettiness was why you were sent to Sydney in the first place… I mean, right before the attacks.” He paused. “You don’t mind me thinking so?”

  Melissa grinned. “As long as you grant me the same courtesy, I guess I don’t mind at all.”

  “You can think of yourself as pretty if you like.”

  She smirked, playfully reaching over and swatting his knee. “Oh, you know what I meant!”

  James laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, well, in that case I think we can arrange for a mutual understanding of some sort. You permit me to think that you’re pretty, and I permit you the same about me. It all works out. Ah, the art of compromise!”

  She made a somewhat unsteady toast with her half-filled glass. “It all works out.” As she did, a drunken, giggly laugh fell from her lips, and he couldn’t help but join in.

  “You really are a lightweight, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea! I haven’t had this much in… in a while!”

  The laughter continued for some time, followed by idle chatter about supplies and more glasses of scotch. When the chatter and the bottle’s contents drained away to nothing, Melissa sipped coyly at the last of her glass, grinning across James’s heavy wooden table at the man on the other side. She folded her legs, wiggling her toes, her boots long since discarded and tossed in an untidy pile near the door.

  “So… you know the crew thinks we’re sleeping together, right?”

  He stared. “They say that on the Beijing too?” The man seemed genuinely surprised, shaking his head. “The crew gets up to all kinds of gossip on the Tehran… much of the same drivel. I suppose you should be used to it by now, though.”

  “Sheng assumed we were, and nothing I could do could convince him otherwise. He seemed fixated on the idea—not that it’s any of his business who I take to bed, of course. That damn arsehole can say what he likes… doesn’t matter to me one bit.”

  An impish grin formed on his face. “To me, that sounds like a good case for double jeopardy.”

  Melissa laughed right in the middle of sipping from the half-depleted glass, which caused a little of the booze to splash, barely noticed, on the front of her uniform. “Oh?” she asked, smirking and wiping her front with the back of her hand. “What’s that, mmm? I’m being accused of—and essentially convicted in absentia by the fleet’s gossip mill—of having sexual relations with you, so… I might as well partake of your, uh, spoils… on the grounds I’m going to be punished for doing so anyway?”

  He laughed. “You said it better than I could. You should just get on with it. I’ll have to endure somehow. I’ll just… lie back and think of Brussels, I suppose.”

  She snorted playfully. “You are assuming I would just permit you to undress and fuck me, you know.” She inclined her glass towards him, settling back in the couch. “Quite the stretch!”

  James brought his glass to his lips, grinning like a jackal. “Given how endowed I am, I’m guessing it very well will be.”

  Laughing at his audacity, Liao threw a cushion at him, hitting him square in the face despite her drunkenness. “‘Will be’? Hey, don’t you be talking like it’s already decided—”

  “Mmm? It’s not? Why ever not, my dear?”

  Melissa just snorted and laughed, shaking her head. “You must be kidding me! As tall, dark, and handsome as you are, old friend, I’ve never slept with another officer before… let alone my, albeit indirect, superior. That’s career suicide for a woman in the People’s Navy… or hell, any navy.”

  “Really? Fascinating. Didn’t you say you went to a co-ed boot camp?”

  “Uh… well, I mean—”

  He waggled a finger towards her. “And, just so you know, so did I, so I know what goes on there. Lots and lots and lots of humping in the ammo storage lockers when the commandant’s not looking. We used to call it ‘Interoffice Networking,’ or ‘Interpersonal Relationship Management.’ It’s very healthy, a great way to, uh… bond, and it’s an excellent way to blow off some stress.”

  Melissa snorted with laughter. “Hey, okay, okay… yeah. Yeah, there’s usually a lot of playing around, a lot of ‘networking,’ and I did my fair share, but never with the other officers, let alone—”

  “Never?” asked James, a teasing, playful twinkle in his eye. “Never never?”

  “Never never, ever!” A slight pause then, “We-e-e-ell, except that one time…”

  He clapped his hands, grinning like a kid. “See! See! I told you!”

  “But that doesn’t count.” Liao drunkenly waved her glass around. “It was an exchange program, and they had this… this sculpted Adonis from Spain come over, and I tell you what, he was gorgeous. He had a chest that looked like it was carved from marble, like one of those superheroes Rowe reads about in her stupid comic books. God, he really knew how to 刺痛我的阴道 if you catch my drift… mmm, mmm. Yummy.”

  James appeared to be sitting beside her now, something she hadn’t noticed. “Well”—he slipped his arm around her shoulder with an exaggerated yawn—“you know I just so happen to speak Spanish, right? The international language of sexy, sexy space lust?”

  “Ha! Yeah, sure you do! Spanish my arse.” Liao made no attempt to remove the arm but did give it an amused look out of the corner of her eye.

  “¡Bonita mujer asiática y pequeña! ¡Quiero tener sexo contigo!”

  Melissa blinked, followed by more snorting laughter. She rested her head against her friend’s chest. “Well, fuck me, you do speak Spanish!”

  “Ha. Well, not really. Just that sentence and another sentence explaining that I don’t really speak Spanish after all if they press me about it.” He winked. “And, well, don’t mind if I do!”

  It was the strangest thing, but at that point Melissa felt that the madness of the weeks since the Battle of Jupiter, if that was really what the press were cal
ling it now, had gotten to be too much, as though all the stress and adrenaline and sleeplessness had drained her resolve completely. Before she truly knew what she was doing, her hands were on him, tearing clumsily at the buttons of his uniform. Laughing the whole while, a sincere, genuine laugh that came like a wave of manic excitement, she pushed James onto his back and wiggled out of her top. Her hands found his chest, sliding him free of his uniform.

  She did have such a soft spot for dark-skinned men.

  Outside James Grégoire’s Quarters

  TFR Tehran

  The next morning

  Commander Kamal Iraj cleared his throat to get the reporters' attention. “Unfortunately, I have to ask that you step away now. I know you are waiting for Captain Liao to exit so you can interview her, but regrettably, what we have to speak about is classified.”

  The reporters silently crowding around the door to Captain Grégoire’s quarters, like scavengers searching for tasty meat, were finally ushered away. Now Iraj stood alone before the grey steel door, straightening his uniform for the last time. He was satisfied now that everything was in order and it was time to finally meet his new CO.

  Her whereabouts were no secret. The reporters, along with many crew, had seen the two of them retire to Grégoire’s quarters that night, and nobody had seen them leave. Their stakeout had made sure of that. Iraj had no opinion about her fairly obvious liaison; in fact, he welcomed it. Liao’s apparent “encounter” with another ship captain reduced the risk that she would be fraternizing with anyone on her own crew, which might impair her judgement. It was best that she and her playmate have the vast gulf of space between them so that their heads were clear.

  Iraj opposed relationships between crew members on the same ship for this exact reason. He felt that, no matter how careful one was, it wasn’t possible to separate your duty from your loved ones. Even if those loved ones were merely bunk-buddies, they were obviously something more than friends. It wasn’t a reflection on the character of the person; it was merely human nature.

  Some people who thought this way opposed the participation of females in the military at all, believing them to be the cause of all the mischief—or that removing them would at least remove the opportunity, homosexuality aside. However, the reality was that it had nothing to do with that at all. It was merely common sense, or so he felt.

  Iraj was only interested in men anyway, but in all his years of service, he had never taken a partner, so he liked to hold up his behaviour as an example of how to do it right.

  Pushing all of these thoughts out of his mind, Iraj rapped on the metal hatchway that led to Grégoire’s quarters.

  “Shit!” said a hushed, female voice from inside.

  Then a louder one, male and deep.

  “This is Captain Grégoire’s quarters, and I asked not to be disturbed. If this is another one of the reporters, I told you, I’ll be granting an interview in the morning.”

  “It’s Commander Iraj, sir, of the navy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, here to report to Commander Liao. I’m here to replace Commander Sheng as her first officer, and I would like to have the chance to speak with her informally before we serve together.”

  A pause, a little too long to be believable. “She’s not here. Have you tried checking the Beijing or calling over the radio? Why would she be? This isn’t her ship!” More hushed conversation, then, “She’s not here.”

  “No, I haven’t checked the Beijing, sir, because I’m afraid that she’s in your quarters.” He paused a moment, taking in a breath. “The reporters saw you going in. Apologies.”

  There was a quiet, feminine sigh from inside and then the sound of feet moving on the metal deck. After a moment’s pause, a sheepish Melissa Liao, her short hair mussed from the night’s activities and a towel clumsily wrapped around her body, peeked out from the crack in the door. She regarded the man dejectedly.

  “The reporters saw me go in? Great, just… great.”

  “Sorry, Commander. I know these are not ideal circumstances for us to meet, but…”

  She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. You couldn’t have anticipated…”

  Iraj peered closer. “Are… are you okay, Commander? You look very pale.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just hung over. A little too much excitement last night, I fear, and a little too much scotch.”

  “Oh.”

  There was an awkward silence. Iraj glanced over his shoulder then back to his commanding officer. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’m not going to say anything, although I fear they know everything already.”

  “Your discretion in this matter would be appreciated, although you’re probably right.”

  Iraj pondered this. “Time will tell”—the beginnings of a frown formed on his lips— “and I hope that the press respects your right to privacy. A faint hope, but… may I come in? I have something to discuss with you that can’t wait.”

  Liao sighed and then beckoned him inside. She carefully kept the towel wrapped around herself, sitting on the couch. Grégoire pulled on a pair of boxers, and Liao noticed—with curiosity and amusement in equal measure—that Iraj’s eyes were drawn to the brief flash of the naked man’s dark backside as he did so. Hers were not long behind.

  She mused over the situation for a moment, grinning inwardly. Mister Iraj wouldn’t be the first gay sailor the navy’d ever seen. Rum, sodomy, and the lash, as they used to say.

  Liao returned her attention to her new first officer. “How can I help you, Mister Iraj?”

  The Iranian turned back to Melissa, folding his hands in his lap. “I’m concerned about the security of the Toralii we’ve captured. There’s a lot of hostility on board both ships due to its presence. It’s understandable, really, but—”

  “Her name is Saara.”

  “I, uh… apologize, Captain. Of course… her name is Saara.”

  Liao folded her arms despite the towel draped around her midsection. “Saara’s been cooperating with us so far, and what she’s told us has been a significant source of intelligence for the task force. Her safety is a high priority to me and to the crew of my ship. I expect you to understand that.”

  “I know, Captain. I’m merely… worried about her safety. Your orders to transfer her to the Tehran were surprising to me since you are keeping Lieutenant Yu on the Beijing. All this time spent learning their language will be for nothing if—”

  “What? Wait, transferred?” Liao sat up straight now, glancing to Grégoire in confusion. “James? Did you order Saara be moved to the Tehran?”

  His look of confusion and alarm said it all.

  Iraj shook his head. “No, Captain, I don’t think you understand—the orders had your signature on them. The marines were given them by Sheng himself…”

  Grégoire gave Iraj a confused look. “You’re sure? It had Melissa’s signature on the transfer forms?”

  “Absolutely, Captain. I saw it myself.”

  “Shit!” Liao stared at Iraj as realization dawned. “Sheng… it’s Sheng, and he’s bringing Saara to the Tehran… but why? Did he possibly think I wouldn’t notice her being transferred?”

  Throwing aside the towel, Liao began picking up her clothes. Both Grégoire and Iraj raised their left eyebrows at her sudden nakedness—something she found, for some reason, vaguely amusing—but said nothing.

  She mused aloud as she pulled on her uniform.

  “He’s bringing her to the Tehran… but that doesn’t make sense! Whatever he’s planning to do to her, he could just as easily do on the Beijing. What’s over here that he could want? And why would he take Saara?”

  Nobody knew. Liao and Grégoire dressed and stepped outside Grégoire's quarters with Iraj. Just as the door was about to close, Grégoire stuck his boot in. Disappearing inside, he returned with the sidearm from his locker. He loaded it with a full magazine, pulled back the slide with a dull clink, eased it forward, and gently lowered the hammer with his thumb.
<
br />   “Hope you’re not planning on using that,” Iraj observed with some degree of concern.

  James walked down the corridor, motioning for them to follow. “So do I.”

  Corridor Six, near Operations

  TFR Tehran

  Minutes later

  “I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that, Commander Liao.”

  The marines standing before her kept their rifles trained on the three of them. Grégoire pushed his way to the front, the scowl on his face harder than the deck plating he walked on.

  “Stand down, Warrant Officer Cheung. I am the captain of this vessel and you will—”

  “I’m afraid I can’t obey that order, Captain Grégoire, as you’re not the commanding officer of this vessel any longer. You’ve been legally relieved of command by Commander Sheng and ordered to report to the brig.”

  Grégoire's surprise was obvious. He glanced over his shoulder to Liao and then back to Yanmei Cheung. “Have I, now? On what grounds?”

  The marine warrant officer tightened her grip on her rifle, keeping it fixed on Grégoire’s centre of mass. She was apprehensive and nervous; Liao, Iraj, and Grégoire could all see that she was merely following orders she did not necessarily agree with. “Your support of the actions of Commander Liao, who has also been similarly relieved, along with Commander Iraj.”

  Liao felt as though she could break the bulkheads around her in half if given the chance. Her anger, though, was buried beneath the cold steel exterior of a naval captain. Instead of showing the boiling rage she felt bubbling beneath the surface, she instead projected the cool visage of a woman who was obviously displeased but was in full control of her substantial anger.

  “And what regulation did Commander Liao disobey, Warrant Officer, serious enough to justify relieving not only her of command but myself and her XO as well? Go on. Enlighten me.”

  “Commander Liao has been sheltering one of the demons, Captain, a fact well known to half the fleet at this point. I’ve seen it myself.”

  James held his ground, staring down the marine with a gaze of steel. “My understanding, Warrant Officer Cheung, is that the People’s Navy, in conjunction with the Task Force Resolution, are empowered to take and keep prisoners, and that as part of that empowerment, are obligated to feed, clothe and care for them.” His tone became caustic. “Or perhaps the huge data mine of intelligence garnered from this operation, at basically no cost, is of no value to Commander Sheng?”

  “Commander Sheng believes that keeping the creature on board is dangerous. He believes that they attacked Earth without provocation and that they should be offered neither latitude nor quarter. He also believes that Commander Liao is reckless with her command and that he relieved her according to protocol, so—”

  “What do you believe?”

  Cheung did not answer, but the barrel of her rifle twitched slightly. Speaking firmly and evenly, Grégoire held out his hand. “Your rifle, please.”

  “You’ve been relieved of duty. I… I can’t.”

  James tilted his head forward, his hand remaining outstretched. He was no more and no less insistent. “The orders you have received are in error. They are given by a man who has no authority to give them, and his actions are not approved by the Task Force Resolution council. So accordingly, you and I are not to be held to them. His actions constitute not the legal relief of duty but mutiny. You can either stand with him and be punished accordingly when this mess is sorted out, or you can continue to do your duty with honour and come take that bastard back to his cell, where he belongs.”

  Considering for a moment, Cheung looked conflicted. She glanced behind her at the other marines and then, seeming to come to a conclusion, slowly lowered her rifle. Liao took it from her, nodding her thanks and shouldering the weapon. With the marines in tow, the three of them headed towards the Tehran’s operations room.

  Operations

  TFR Tehran

  The three officers, along with the marines, stormed into the operations room to find it abuzz with activity. Sheng paced about the deck as though he owned the place, and he looked up when they stormed in, immediately signalling a nearby marine.

  “Master-at-arms, remove these—”

  “Belay that command.” James strode into operations, his pistol in hand and resting comfortably by his side. “Master-at-arms, on my authority, I order you to relieve Commander Sheng of duty and confiscate his sidearm.”

  The master-at-arms, a youthful-looking NCO with a confused look on his face, looked awkwardly between the two parties.

  Sheng fully turned to face the intruders now, frowning darkly. “No, belay that command. These three traitors are supposed to be in their cells.” He glanced to Cheung, frowning darkly. “But it seems they’ll soon have company. Captain Grégoire and his co-conspirators have been properly relieved for their actions, and they should not be here.”

  Liao stepped forward, her rifle pointed straight at Sheng’s heart. “Indeed. And what actions are these, mmm? Mining a prisoner for intelligence? Pray tell me, Sheng, you brave and foolish little dove, how is that worthy of mutiny?”

  “Ha, she acts so innocent. As you wish, Commander, I will shed some illumination on this matter.” Sheng gestured with an arm. “Sergeant, bring out the prisoner.”

  Liao’s heart almost broke at what she saw, and she could hear Grégoire take in a sharp breath. The marines loyal to Sheng dragged out Saara’s limp form as though they were dragging a sack of potatoes. Her dark-purple blood streaked her fur, and her bloodstained face was adorned with rough, swollen bruises.

  She had been cut and burned, with sections of her fur on her back missing as though they had thrashed her with a cane. It seemed as though the marines hadn't known what to really do to hurt the Toralii, so they had started from the very basics and worked their way up with various degrees of success.

  The marines unceremoniously dropped her on the deck. Saara didn’t move. Liao couldn’t even tell whether she was breathing.

  “You see,” Sheng began, “I agree with your ideas, but I disapprove of your methods. Yes, knowledge was gained, but what was it… intelligence? More like stories. What use are stories to us? What use is folklore? Language exchange? We needed weapons, technology, information… the location of their home world! That is valuable information, not”—he snorted—“not stories about ‘peace in the village,’ spouted by hypocritical warmongers.”

  “The Geneva Convention, one of the Task Force’s standing orders, dictates that all people—”

  “The Toralii are things, Commander, not people. They are monsters. Demons. Hunks of meat to be held up and beaten until their secrets spill out then discarded out a convenient airlock.”

  The man jabbed a finger down at the broken Toralii body. “This demon spilled her secrets long ago, Commander, but still you kept her around. Still you let her consume our air, our water, our food.” His voice turned vicious, and he leaned forward slightly. “You befriended a beast, Commander, and this has turned out to be a spectacularly bad idea. You’ve lost objectivity. The creature has given us all we can take. It is now refuse, debris to be discarded with the morning garbage.”

  Liao tightened her grip on the rifle. “What did she tell you?”

  Sheng’s grin widened. “The location of a Toralii resupply depot. And I fully intend to take this ship and destroy it. It was supposed to be the Beijing that would have this honour, but once I learned the good Captain Grégoire was here fucking his whore, I knew I’d have to change my plans.”

  Liao paused a moment, considering the man’s words. From a strictly military point of view, he had a point; Saara had told them everything they needed to know, except the location of her home world and the reason behind the attack, and Sheng had extracted a very valuable piece of information from her, one not even Liao had been given.

  Humanity had a history of mistreating “non-human” prisoners when propaganda had shown their enemies to be so wicked and threatening that the offending soldiers
no longer considered their enemies to be people. Now, it seemed, their species was carrying this habit to the stars, and while Saara was clearly non-human, in Liao’s mind, she was a person and did not deserve to be brutalized.

  It was, therefore, with some guilt that she recalled punching Sheng in the face. Although her actions had been done out of anger and she had later controlled herself, it was difficult to claim to be a moral authority on the issue when there was an easy case to be made that she was a hypocrite.

  “Call them demons, do you?” asked Liao raising an eyebrow. “If they truly are, then…”

  Liao gently squeezed the trigger on her rifle. In the pure oxygen environment of the operations room, a large tongue of flame leapt from the end of the barrel, and with a bang-whiz, the round blew out Sheng’s heart, the round blooming in a sanguine flower on his chest. The man collapsed in a bloody heap.

  “Give them my regards when you see them in hell.”

  She lowered the weapon, glancing around at the shocked faces all around her. “Apologies, Captain, for making a mess of your operations room.”

  Grégoire, at first surprised, casually shrugged. “Can’t say I wasn’t thinking of it myself.”

  Act III

  Chapter VII

  Horses and Stories