Lacuna: The Prelude to Eternity (17 page)

She couldn’t help but agree. “What about the constructs? They can self-replicate, they can repair the
Beijing
well enough… even improve it. Saeed says they can build whole ships.”

“This is all true,” said Anderson. “Problem is, we don’t have enough constructs to do that in any appreciable time, and we can’t let the constructs build more of themselves because we need what we have, now. We’re up to a few hundred of the guys, which is fine, but soon they’ll need another datacore. Building those things takes rare metals we just don’t have access to right now. So we’re going to have to launch a survey mission to other planets in this system to try and see if we can find some. It’s a long process, but eventually we’re going to have enough to service our needs… eventually.”

“Lot of that going around,” Liao observed. Not enough time to get more resources, not enough resources to buy more time. They were stuck in a cycle of poverty. “What about our military assets? Anything we can do to bolster them in the short term?”

“We have a lot of strengths,” Anderson said, his tone suggesting that he had been having that kind of talk a lot. “Especially here on this little piece of the United States, the
Washington
. We like to believe that the American teaching philosophy encourages us to specialise in creativity, spontaneous planning, improvisation, making it up as we go, and hoping for the best. Obviously, we have plenty of hard rules too, and sometimes we don’t live up to our ideals. So while that’s true to some extent, there’s one part of our training where we both talk the talk and walk the walk: our supply lines. Our doctrine is to win through logistics.

“We outgun everyone, yep. We might outnumber our enemies too, sometimes. Those are our strengths. Our greatest strength is what we have in the depots and the trucks: the food, water, ammo, medicines, and support network to project force anywhere. That’s how we win. Take places like Afghanistan, for example. The Mujahideen were strong, brave, committed, and tough men,
hard
men accustomed to some of the harshest terrain in the entire history of Human existence, prepared to endure any pain, any suffering, for the chance to kill us.

“Determination counts for something. A lot, really. Courage… it’s important. In the end, though, you can’t will your way out of JDAMs, and our ability to put ten thousand pounds of bombs anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice, and do it over and over for ten years if necessary like clockwork, is what makes us win. Back in the day, they used to call it
warheads on foreheads
.”

Liao smiled. “You know, they used to tell me in military academy that the Americans were loose cannons on deck, that they were reckless, impulsive, dangerous. We used to say, ‘When the Germans shoot, the Brits duck. When the Brits shoot, the Germans duck. When the Americans shoot,
everyone
ducks.’”

Anderson laughed. “There’s truth in that. I’ll admit that we have problems with blue-on-blue, but part of that reason is the strict reporting we have for those kinds of incidents. Other nations just cover it up. We make a point of investigating and trying to improve our training techniques, no matter how painful that incident is. Blue-on-blue is a serious matter here, almost as serious as officers putting their hands in their pockets.”

Liao snorted with laughter. “Yeah. Pointless rules are part of every military. We had these stupid little straps we had to wear whenever we had PT, reflective things to stop vehicles hitting us or whatever.”

“Oh God,” said Anderson, his eyes wide. “You had PT belts as well?”

“You had
belts
?”

“They were straps, but we called them belts, bright green reflective things. I think we called them belts because that has fewer letters. It’s relieving that this kind of retardation wasn’t exclusive to the US military.”

Boot camp had been an unfun place, but she had some good memories from there, too. “Stupid people place equal importance on all things.”

“Very wise,” said Anderson, his smile genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

“I’m Chinese. We practically speak in proverbs and riddles. We love stories.” She flicked her metal fingers, rubbing two of them together. It produced a strange sensation on her synthetic skin. “How are you doing with ammo?”

“The
Washington
is less conservative with our rounds than we’d like, but that’s because I’d rather waste ammo than lives.”

Liao had to concede that point. “I think the rest of the fleet need to adopt that philosophy. Bullets we can replace quickly. New Humans take longer. Every time we lose someone, that’s one less of our species, at a time when the numbers of Humans are the only real thing we can use to keep score.”

“Yeah.” Anderson considered. “Fortunately, though, missiles and railgun slugs are pretty easy to make. Sometimes, people assume that they’re difficult, but the engineering principles are simple and well documented.”

“Assumptions are usually the mother of all fuckups.”

“And inaccuracies,” Anderson added. “Life’s strange like that.”

Liao “So. PT belts. Ammo shortages. Logistical issues. You have a lot of stories, Anderson.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Liao leaned on her armrest. “What else you got?”

Anderson clicked his tongue. “How about the ten-year US occupation in Afghanistan? The common man simply assumes that period to be one of the bloodiest in Afghani history. The truth is quite different. They had the most peaceful ten-year period in recent history.”

All she had heard about was sectarian violence and endless cycles of killing. “Really?”

“Yeah. Believe me, I’m not about to debate 2000s-era US military policy, but in the eighties, when the Soviets were invading, there were an estimated eight hundred fifty thousand to one point five million civilians dead. Five million refugees. Four hundred thousand purely political killings. Then in the nineties, there was a lot of civil conflict, and figures get a bit hard to discover, but sufficient enough to say there are hundreds of thousands of deaths. Militants would go door to door looking for Hazaras and Shias, and if they found them, execute them. Cold blooded as all hell.”

“So how did things under America go?”

“Between the years of 2001 to 2013, it was no picnic, but only about sixteen thousand to nineteen thousand civilians were killed, and that’s with
much
better record keeping and oversight. Those times were the best time to be a civilian in Afghanistan since the Soviets got involved.”

Her perception of those events was quite different. It was hard to believe, but Anderson spoke with the quiet confidence of someone who memorised textbooks. She settled back in her chair. “I didn’t know that.”

“Honestly, I didn’t want to believe it until I’d heard about it for myself.”

Liao considered. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s important,” said Anderson. “The old military instructor who told me that? He’s dead now. All his experience, knowledge, history… all dead with him. The only thing we can do is share things amongst ourselves. I’m passing along his hard-won knowledge, and I’m hoping you can apply it to our present situation.”

To the Toralii? She couldn’t see how, but another thought occurred. “Bean knowledge,” said Liao. “We need bean knowledge.”

“Bean knowledge?”

“It’s a Japanese idiom. Knowledge of small things. Trivia. We need to preserve the trivia of our species.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He did raise an eyebrow. “Since when did Chinese people start sprouting Japanese idioms?”

“Since there’s no China anymore and no Japan either.” Liao folded her arms. “Believe me, when I was growing up, all I heard about was how barbaric the Japanese were during World War II, but you know what? All those fuckers are dead. Every last one of them. Time to move on.”

“Sounds good,” said Anderson, and he stood up. “Well, let me know if I can do anything more to help.”

“There was one thing,” said Liao, inhaling slightly. “I want Decker-Sheng off this mission and out of our senior staff briefings. If we’re going to do this thing, I don’t want him to have any part of it.”

Anderson affixed her with a firm stare. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s a senior officer, one of the few we have left, and we need him as part of this team.” His voice softened. “Decker-Sheng shares blood with the man you killed, but he’s not his brother. He’s barely stepped foot in China and hardly knew him.”

“I don’t trust him.” She couldn’t quite articulate why. “It’s not his family connections. It’s more than that. Why was he in NORAD? Out of all the Humans we could have possibly dragged out of that place, why did we get him? He’s been a part of this fleet for less than a
day
,
and he’s already in charge of a major operation?”

“It’s my operation,” Anderson reminded her, something he seemed reluctant to say. “My plan. We got him and many others. Sometimes the universe has a strange sense of irony, Captain.” He tilted his head slightly. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Would it? Her suspicions about Decker-Sheng ate at her. She wanted to protest, but Liao had put up with worse things. “No,” she said.

“Inform me if this position changes.”

“Will do,” said Liao, standing as well. “I should park the ship in low orbit. Then I should have a word to Iraj and make sure our tests went okay.”

“Agreed. I’ll walk you to the airlock, shall I?”

“I’d like that,” she said, putting her cap back on. She went to leave but saw something on Anderson’s face that made her stop. “You okay, Captain?”

“No,” he said frankly. “The Iilan are the toughest, strongest kids on the block. Just because they don’t want to fight doesn’t mean they can’t pack a wallop when they want to. The Toralii know what they want. They know where it is.”

She had meant “physically,” but his answer satisfied her. “You think we could be sailing into a trap,” Liao reasoned, with a fair amount of agreement.

Anderson put his chin in his hands. “I think we’d be foolish to think, now that even the mighty have been bloodied, that the Toralii Alliance have forgotten about us.”

She couldn’t agree more. “I should return to the
Beijing
,” she said. “I have a lot of work to do, and when it’s done, I’d like to catch a Broadsword to Eden. I have business on the surface.”

“This isn’t about Decker-Sheng, is it?”

Normally such a question might be inappropriate but not amongst command staff. It was good that he checked.

“No.” She had told Keller she would see to the Toralii prisoners. Although Liao was not enamoured with the idea of fair treatment for the Toralii, Keller had made a good point.

Still, she should at least see for herself.

“Just making sure we’re still Human.”

Eden

A passerby was happy to help Liao find where the prisoners were being kept. The Toralii had been an obvious addition to the settlement and, apparently, were being held in one of the underground bunkers, which the crew of the
Tehran
had modified into an improvised prison. Although she was not thrilled about their bunker space being used to house those who’d formerly bombarded said bunkers, they would be, at the very least, well protected.

Liao was not a tall woman, but she still stooped as she stepped through the threshold of the staircase leading into the underground bunker. Several cages had been hastily assembled in the far corner of the dimly lit artificial cave, and two Iranian Marines from the
Tehran
stood guard.

Liao approached. “Petty Officer, I would like to speak with one of the prisoners, please.”

“Of course, Captain.” They stood aside.

Liao regarded the prisoners. There were seven of them, and they sat on wooden squares laid over bare floors. Liao was taken aback by their appearance. Saara always took great care of her fur, but those Toralii were the opposite, their body hair tangled and disheveled, their posture stooped as they sat in the uncomfortable, cold cells. They looked uncomfortable and miserable. One of the Toralii was wounded, lying on her back, bandages stained with purple Toralii blood.

She recognised them all, vaguely, from their capture. Liao did not see their leader.

A tall, grey-furred Toralii shuffled to the front of the cage. He was wearing a Toralii translation device. Liao had no idea where they had gotten it from—the
Knight
, presumably.

[“I am Crewman First Rank Kkezi,”] he said. [“I speak for the crew.”]

“Where is their leader?” Liao asked. “The one with the white fur?”

[“Dead,”] he said. [“She attempted to escape. Your guards killed her during the attempt, and Airmaiden Jara was wounded.”]

Keller might have disagreed, but Liao’s posture remained neutral. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of sympathy for you.”

[“I do not recall asking for any.”] Kkezi’s tone was even. [“It is war.”]

“It is war,” echoed Liao. “That doesn’t mean we abandon our principles.”

He regarded her new arm. [“You were injured in the battle?”]

The question surprised her. For a moment, she felt a twinge of guilt. Despite his filthy surroundings and wounded subordinates, Kkezi had taken the time to ask about
her
welfare. “Yes, but I’m not here to talk about that.” Liao folded her hands in front of her, cupping her real hand in her prosthetic. “How was your journey down here?”