The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Forty Three

The giant ship loomed ahead of them like a piece of the horizon that had broken away from a world and drifted off into the Black. Wash tried not to look worried, even though every fiber in his body was screaming at him to turn tail and get away from that lethal object. It looked dangerous even from this distance, and with every second it got a thousand feet closer. There was no doubt that it was a military ship. It was long, vaguely tear-drop shaped with a nearly spherical front end, an elongated body, and a gently tapered tail that housed the reactors and the massive engines. Gunports and missile batteries studded the exterior like pimples on a teenager's butt. An elevated dorsal spine housed scores of anti-missile laser batteries and more exotic weaponry – including the emitters for the three main lasers. The underside of the ship was pocked with circular craters containing fighters and gunships in quick-release configurations, as well as orbital bombardment clusters. Despite its sleek lines and pretensions of aerodynamics, the Sun Tzu was never meant to land on any world. Destroy them, yes, but not to land . . . “That’s one hurtful lookin’ piece o’ hardware,” Mal murmured reverently as they approached. “I can see why folk were afraid.” “It makes ‘overkill’ an understatement,” noted Wash, his casual manner belying his anxiety. “It’s a gorram Tyranaosaur! That ship must be more heavily armed than the entire Independents movement.” “That ain’t sayin’ all that much. But I can see why the General was anxious to get it,” agreed Zoe. “Ship like that shows up in your sky, you’re like to consider diplomacizing more seriously.” “It’s unreal!” Wash said, shaking his head. “Look, they don’t even bother with roll compensators – they just let the thrusters do all the work. And they can. Big bastards. Kaylee, you getting this?” A moment later the intercom crackled. “Yeah, I see her. She’s beautiful!” “Serenity is beautiful. That thing is just psychotically deadly,” corrected Wash. “And she needs a good washing.” The ship was painted a bright yellow, once, but a century awash in atmo-borne particulates had pitted the once smooth skin to the point where the yellow was more a dingy brown. The proud sigil of the Yuanese Empire was clearly visible in red on the sensor tower, though. But with virtually no running lights and precious little movement the ship had a disturbing, dead quality that unnerved Wash. Any decent pilot could tell a “live” ship for a “dead” one just by the feel of it. A hundred little clues, invisible or unnoticeable to a layman, gave him that information. And this one was much closer to dead than alive. “Is it possible the hull was damaged during all those years?” Zoe asked. “I ain’t partial to breathing hydrogen.” Wash shrugged. “Hard to say. I’d like to think not, considering there’s about three feet of armor on every surface, I bet. I’m sure it’s just powered down.” “We’ll know soon enough,” Mal assured. “Take us under her. Let’s find the front door.” Wash nodded in agreement and steered Serenity below the warship. The complex shipscape was in shadow, providing an eerie ceiling. When they had traversed about half its length, a spotlight suddenly stabbed out at them, causing Wash to curse – though he fought the urge to correct his course. “I suddenly feel like a rabbit that’s been dropped into a dog show,” he muttered. “I’m getting an open docking request. Automated, of course.” “Answer it,” ordered Mal. “You sure?” he asked. “Last chance to back out.” “My curiosity stands engaged. Answer it.” “You’re the soon-to-be-late Captain,” the pilot reluctantly agreed as he answered the hail. A few hundred feet ahead of them a protruding, squarish-shaped element on the ship lit up, and huge clamshell doors opened. “Looks like a big mouth to me,” observed Zoe. “That rabbit feeling? It’s getting a little stronger now.” “Take her in, Wash,” Mal directed. “Nice and slow. No guts, no glory.” “Wow, that was profound. If I said I had a bad feeling about this, would it matter?” “Nope.” “Didn’t think so. Entering the jaws of death, now. Sir.” Serenity floated into the bay slowly, giving Wash plenty of time to correct the course should there be any obstruction. There wasn’t As the second set of doors closed behind them the Sun Tzu’s grav field took over, and Wash had to wrestle a minute until the two systems synchronized, but that was it. The bay was wide, with plenty of landing room – but it was not empty. Two dozen sleek fighters were lined up in their launching cradles like they were just off the assembly line. Wash whistled appreciatively. “See those? Those are Haolin Marauders! I think there’s maybe six of those functioning left in the ‘verse today, and none in mint condition. One of those babies alone would be worth a million five, easy. Armed, probably more – if you could get around the Alliance’s picky regulations on civilian ownership of weapons of mass destruction.” “Screw the Alliance,” grunted Mal. “Any chance we could stick one in the cargo bay?” “If we unshipped the stabilizers, maybe. But not with a gorram Army camp there.” “That looks like a good spot,” Zoe pointed out, indicating a space fifty meters further down from the Marauders. “Good eye, hotpants,” Wash agreed. Moments later the landing legs clanked metal-to-metal against the deck. They were in. Mal picked up the intercom. “General, your clock starts now. Three days. Call it Seventy-One hours, just to be safe. Start analyzing the atmo, I’m going to get dressed.” He slapped Wash on the shoulder as he hung up the mike. “Good job. You keep her warm, set up the comm center. Remember, you are leading Team Delta. You hold the ship.” “And ‘Team Delta’ is anyone who isn’t actually useful,” the pilot commented philosophically, starting his partial post-flight routine. “You, Kaylee, that medic Hsang, and the Doc and his sister,” admitted Mal. “Book said he’d stay with you, too, if you want.” “Oh, I think we can spare him, unless Simon has some burning need for spiritual guidance. But if Kaylee is any indication, there isn’t too much sinning on his tablet. Take the Shepherd. We’ll muddle. What about the Ambassador?” Mal shrugged. “She wants to see the ship. She knows it’s dangerous. But she’s a big girl. I’ll let her go in.” “She’s been acting weird, lately,” Wash observed. “I mean, she’s still alluring, and charming, and really very hot, but—” “She’s just having a hard time with that attack. She killed someone. It’s having an effect. It usually does,” Zoe commented evenly. Her tone told him that further discussion would not be productive. “Enough gossip. C’mon, Zoe, let’s go suit up!” Mal said eagerly. She leaned down to kiss her husband warmly. “Have fun, sweetheart!” he called to her, lightly. “Don’t forget to steal something for me! See if they have t-shirts! Souvenirs for the kids! And remember, don’t get all bogged down in business – you’re here to have a good crime!” *

*

*

Alpha Team, led by the General, took a light infantry team of five men, plus Zoe and Master Lei. Their mission was the Bridge. Beta Team was the heavy-weapons specialists, and they were assigned to capturing the computer core. They were led by Colonel Campbell, and included Jayne. Gamma Team was led by Mal, and in addition to the light infantry squad Johnny and Book had elected to join them, as well as Inara. Their assignment was the engine room. The cargo bay was alive with excitement, as if the assembled were preparing the premier performance of a new play. There was expectation in their voices, and nervousness, and plenty of pointless questioning about the nature of the Sun Tzu. “You sure you don’t want to go armed, Master?” Johnny asked with concern. The old monk shook his head. “There are weapons enough. I am armed with the Way. It shall protect me. Or not,” he admitted. “The Way can be frustratingly indifferent like that.” “I walk with the Lord,” said Book. “He is my shepherd: I shall not want. But I also shall not walk around in a dangerous situation without recourse to an argument,” he admitted, patting the small .38 he carried in a borrowed shoulder holster. “I know martyrdom is blessed, but there are better ways to be blessed.” “Split up the heavy weapons,” ordered the General to his men. “I want a good mix in every team. We don’t have the luxury of devoting a whole fireteam to one specialty. Plenty of ammunition, too.” “I want every man to have at least three liters of water,” Simon said, distributing canteens among the boarding parties. “We don’t know about biological contaminants here, yet. Eat and drink nothing you didn’t carry with you. The last thing I want is an infirmary full of vomiting soldiers. Gunshot wounds are fine, but no vomit, no diarrhea. Keep your first aid kits on your person, not in your pack,” he warned. “Schematics show that our best route will be through here,” Colonel Campbell was saying to Jayne. “We take this corridor straight until it ends, then up five levels, then aft. If this map is accurate, we should make it in twelve hours. If we don’t encounter opposition, that is.” “Bring it on!” Jayne said, slamming a cartridge into Vera’s feeder. “I got a woody ‘bout this mission! Now, which way to the treasure?” “Why are you wearing that silly thing?” Inara asked plainitively. “You gotta ask?” Mal said, an impish grin on his face. “You’re the one who gave it to me.” “I didn’t . . . I was just . . . I thought you hated swords?” “According to custom, I ain’t supposed to put it down ‘till I ‘complish a worthy deed, ain’t that right?” “It’s one silly custom on one small world, Mal,” Inara said, defensively. “I wasn’t trying to—” “All the same, I ain’t the kinda guy who gives up a challenge lightly. You’ll get your worthy deed, Ambassador. You got my word on that.” “You are the most—” “OK, sweetie,” Wash said as he checked over his wife’s kit, “You have everything a lady needs for a springtime assault. Proper boots, stylish armor, and those blast glasses suit your face just perfectly! Did we remember to accessorize?” Zoe held up a fistful of grenades and the Dragon assault rifle she had selected. “That’s my girl, always in style. Try to bring that pretty ass home in one piece, ‘kay?” He tried his best not to sound nervous and worried. She smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I want a gun fortification just inside the cargo bay,” the General ordered his squad. “Set up the machine gun, in case they have to cover our retreat. And I want someone on sentry duty at all times!” “River, you ain’t invited to that!” Jayned warned. The girl stuck out her tongue. “We’ll sweep the local area and set up a secure perimeter,” Campbell assured Mal. “Let’s do that first, make sure that there are no nasty surprises waiting for Delta team.” “All right!” bellowed the General. “Fall in for inspection!” After a thorough inspection of everyone’s radios, weapons and equipment by all three team leaders, a rousing peptalk by the General and blessings by Master Lei and Shepherd Book, the teams were eager to get to business. They checked their Dragon assault rifles one last time. They made sure their personal rations and first aid supplies were where they were supposed to be. They tightened up the matte black armor they wore, designed in the last war for nocturnal recon, and strapped down their helmets. Sensors indicated breathable air and no discernable toxins. The clock was ticking. It was time to go. The cargo bay ramp slammed down, and Alpha team immediately launched themselves out to secure a perimeter in the wide, empty landing bay. Within two minutes it was pronounced “clear” and the Beta team trooped out. Colonel Campbell quickly located a graphic map of the deckplan and after a brief consultation with the General, he led his men – and Jayne – into the corridor ahead and to the left. Mal got his team in position, and as soon as the last of Campbell’s team passed out of sight, he directed them into the corridor and straight ahead. All three teams found that the atmo was pleasant, if stale and cold, and that the ship had thoughtfully lit up the corridors for them. The decks were pristine, without even dust to show their age. The bulkheads were usually painted in the Imperial colors, and signs in Chinese constantly told them where escape pods and emergency equipment could be found. Each team went up the corridor as if it were hostile territory, sending out two-man recon units, then proceeding leap-frog fashion down the halls. There were a lot of halls, a lot of corridors. The ship was huge. It would take some time to get to their assignments. Wash, meanwhile, prepared his team by having Simon break out a bottle of the high-class booze he had liberated from the ghost world. The doctor raised a couple of eyebrows at that, probably figuring that cocktails were probably not usually a priority for a combat support team, but he complied after Wash explained. “We got three days, here, and all we got to do is keep the engine warm and worry. Well, the engine’s warm. I don’t plan on getting housed, but I dare say a healthy libation would keep me from crawling out of my gorram mind knowing that my wife is on her first real combat op in eight years.” “Then this would be for medicinal purposes?” he asked, skeptically. “Exactly. We must keep up spirits. Keep morale high.” “Sounds like a flimsy excuse,” he said. “Maybe you can relax,” Wash pointed out, shrugging. “That was my wife who just marched away. I am going to be going bat-shit nuts until I see her come back. Besides, in three days time we will either all be very rich . . . or dead. Might as well enjoy the ride.” *

*

*

ALPHA TEAM

After a full hour, General Lei felt that they were making good progress. The Bridge was at the very front of the ship, several decks up. After looking at the map on the wall of the docking bay, and comparing it to what they had gleaned from the Imperial Archive, he had estimated that it would take a full day to get there moving at this cautious pace. He didn’t mind. As anxious as he was to complete his mission, he wanted to be careful about it. Especially under the eye of the Heavenly Master. The General had always felt a hint of humility when he dealt with the old monk – a man couldn’t help but want to impress his elders – and he was well aware of just how devious the Lei family could be. His ancestor had outsmarted the Tyrant. It did not pay to underestimate him. For now they would treat every step of the journey with “enemy territory” doctrine. He had established a running combat pattern consistent with how they had fought ship-board battles in the war. Fighting on a ship – your own or another’s – was a battlefield like no other. A poorly aimed shot, one bad ricochet, and it was possible to cause unintended catastrophic consequences. They were already far enough away from the hull to essentially forget about the dangers of explosive decompression, but there were a hundred other ways to screw it up: hit a power conduit, a data line, a coolant hose, or any number of other things and things could go poorly. For just that reason, most of the vulnerable systems were hidden within lightly armored bulkheads, which gave the ship a clean and uncluttered look compared to the Revenge, or Serenity. There were no hoses or ductwork exposed. He had no real idea what they might be fighting. After a hundred years, it was doubtful that the original crew was still around. Likely their foes would be mechanical, and he had planned accordingly. Every man had a short-range EMP grenade, along with his Stingray carbine and personal weapons. Used wisely, that could go a long way towards neutralizing any sentry robots or automated defense systems the Sun Tzu may carry. A rotating point man would advance to the next hatchway – they were all very ornate as well as functional, with pocket blast doors and elegantly concealed controls – and he would scan for traps, defenses, and any other dangers with a multiprobe. When it was clear, the next two would move up, one becoming the next point man, the first point moving back to third position until the next two advanced. Then the General and the Master, with Zoe protecting the rear. The General had overcome his initial misgivings about having a woman in combat, even though he had known several good female soldiers in his time. In practice the old Imperial Armed Forces had plenty of women enlisted, but almost all of them were assigned to support roles. The very few daughters of the Thousand Families who won their way into combat units were elite, deadly fighters possessed of impeccable skills and judgment. They tended to make good officers. Zoe Washburne was cut from that same cloth. Though she was a little unpolished, as all the Browncoats had been, she was easily one of the the best female soldiers he had ever known. She also wasn’t so over-awed by him, as the Imperial female soldiers had been, that she avoided conversation. He saw that she had a keen eye and excellent combat intuition from her defense of Serenity on Salisbury, two qualities that were invaluable in the field. Any survivor of Serenity Valley deserved his respect – she had earned it twice over again when she spotted the first trap before his men did. “Hold!” she barked in a loud whisper. Everyone froze in place, scanned the area, and then glanced at her. She was watching a door in the corridor that they had just passed, no different, it seemed, to the hundreds of other doors on this deck. But something had caught her eye. She approached cautiously, slinging her Dragon and drawing her shotgun. She carefully examined the door frame, all the way around, peered closely at the control panel built into it, and then got down on her hands and knees and peered at where it met the floor. Rising to her knees, she nodded with satisfaction. “What is it?” the General asked, his hand on his sidearm. “Trap. As soon as Hue passes . . . probably that doorway up there, it will release.” “What will?” “Best guess? I’d say a motion seeker. Could be gas, could be sonic, could be all sorts of things. Hard to say for sure, but the way it’s set up, that’s what I think. Probably comes out up there, which would be just behind us if we kept going, so it could explode and take off all our heads.” “Shall we find a way around it?” Master Lei asked. Zoe shook her head. “I caught this one. We know it’s here. We should probably disarm it and keep going.” “You can do that?” “This ain’t a field munition, Sir. This is a built-in anti-boarding defense. But I got an idea.”

BETA TEAM

“For a warship, place’d make a pretty fair cathouse,” Jayne commented as they passed a particularly ornate doorway. The façade was intricately formed and covered in gold leaf, a motif of lions and cranes. “Never saw so much pretty on a gunboat afore.” “And you have experience with many warships.” “Well,” admitted Jayne slowly, “I been on a couple o’ purplebelly patrol boats afore. Once I was on a cruiser. They weren’t near as fair as this.” He thought for a moment, then mumbled, “At least the detention areas, anyways.” “The old Empire placed a premium on combining utility with art. Even the Tyrant: whatever faults he had, he did love the arts. Poetry, music, dance, sculpture, painting, and calligraphy – he insisted that everyone in his officer corps be proficient in at least one performance art and one static art. He would sometimes call upon them at random to perform at banquets and inspections. A poor or unenthusiastic performance could lead to instant execution.” “That asshat killed folk for not dancin’ pretty?” “Mr. Cobb, sometimes he killed for no particular reason at all. Whole families. Whole villages. In truly vile and despicable ways. He saw it, ironically enough, as an artform as well.” “Just as glad ol’ Fong Wu put a bullet in ‘im, then,” Jayne said with a shake of his head. “We’re not actually certain how the Tyrant was killed,” Campbell admitted. “The whole affair was hushed up . . . rather thoroughly. I myself am a student of history, and of that period in particular: I had never heard the name ‘Nyan Nyan’ before I encountered it in the Imperial Archives.” “What kinda fu leh name is that, anyhow? ‘Kitten’?” “Imperial Intelligence agents often take colorful nom d’ guerre. I’m assuming that ‘Kitten’ was about two hundred pounds of pure muscular killer.” “Knew a guy once like that,” admitted the mercenary. “Named ‘Cottontail’. Used t’stuff guncotton up the butts of folk he took a dislike to an’ light it. Mean SOB.” “Yes . . . perhaps ‘Kitten’ was like that.” Campbell looked around, caught the signal from his point man that there was another intersection up ahead. At his silent signal, three of the men took positions covering all three directions as the rest of the team followed through. They were heading through the administrative section of the ship, mostly offices and conference rooms. There seemed to be a lot of them to Jayne. “Why they need so many paper-pushers in a gorram warship?” he asked as he passed a door marked NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS’ RETIREMENT BENEFITS ADMINISTRATION. “Seems powerful odd t’have a whole corporation tucked in amongst your weaponry.” “Not at all,” Campbell disagreed. “This ship could house ten thousand or more, when fully staffed. A population the size of a small town needs an ample support staff. In addition, the tradition of a self-sufficient military meant that the ship would be expected to conduct business of one sort or another, and that would require office space as well. And in the event of conquest – the Sun Tzu was built to conquer Xiao, after all – the Empire would want to be able administer the new territory from a secure place.” “Just don’t seem manly,” the mercenary pronounced. Campbell smiled quickly. “Mr. Cobb, a great many things in military life don’t seem manly; sometimes one is called upon to redefine what manliness is.” “I always thought—” What Jayne thought was interrupted by a signal from the pointman. Perhaps he wasn’t a soldier, but Jayne knew about trouble. He froze and readied his weapons. “Colonel!” the pointman called out. “Two obstacles ahead. They look like floor-scrubbing robots.” “Are they moving, corporal?” “No, sir. But their activation lights are on.” “Move forward and investigate. Miller, Ho, you cover him.” The scout cautiously approached the two robots, weapons at the ready. When they were within ten feet of them, they started forward, towards them – aggressively. All three guns barked, and soon the aluminum frames were well ventilated, and electronics spilled out of the holes like guts. “Hate to see a good floor-cleaner go bad,” observed Jayne. “But I guess that’s one obstacle down.” “Perhaps,” agreed Campbell. “Miller! Toss a dummy over the top of that thing, will you?” “Yes sir!” Miller called back. He dug into a pouch and came out with a four-inch-wide brass washer he had picked up somewhere, and tossed it just behind the dead robots. Instantly a laser erupted from the ceiling, turning the washer into a molten pile. “I thought as much. The robots were the bait, something to give us a false sense of accomplishment. Looks like we’ll have to find another way.” “I ain’t real partial to that plan,” Jayne grunted, raising Vera and taking aim at the concealed emitter. Before Campbell could stop him, he slammed a round from the big autolock into the ceiling, creating a crater of twisted metal a foot in diameter. “Druther just keep goin’ this way.” “Test it again, Miller,” Campbell called. He turned to Jayne. “Please wait for my signal, next time, Mr. Cobb. While I do not demand the unerring discipline the General favors, I do think a little courtesy in combat is not a bad thing.” “Hey, the laser’s gone,” Jayne defended, nodding to the second copper washer, which was rolling down the corridor unmolested. “I ain’t real disciplined, that’s a fact. But damn if I don’t get results,” he added, as he started down the corridor after the washer. “But what results are they?” Campbell asked himself, following. “Success . . . or death for all around you?” The big mercenary apparently heard him. He turned with a grin. “Sometimes one, sometimes th’other. I ain’t picky.”

*

*

*

GAMMA TEAM

“I think we done past this way before,” Mal said doubtfully as he scanned a conveniently located map on the corridor. “This here door is labeled ‘Aft Machine Shop’, an’ I swear on Inara’s virtue that we done passed by it already.” “That was the ‘Aft Machine Room’, not the ‘Aft Machine Shop’,” corrected Book. Mal turned and studied the man. “You sure?” he asked doubtfully. “Yep. Trust me, we’re on track.” “As long as you’re certain. I got lost three decks back. Ships ain’t got no right bein’ this big.” “This place is bigger than my hometown by half. Maybe double in size,” Johnny noted. “Hell, you could fit the whole place into that repair bay we almost got lost in.” “Cleaner, too,” agreed Book. “I expect that they lowered the atmo pressure here to next to nothing over the last century. Kept the dust down.” From up ahead one of the scouts, Deng, had stopped and made a motion for an officer to come forward. When Mal and Johnny approached the man nodded towards the door. It was ajar. Every other door they had passed had been sealed. They had tried a few out, but until the computer core was activated, none of them worked. But not this one. It was a pocket door open about three inches. It was dark inside. “You hear anything, Deng?” Johnny whispered. “No, Sir,” the soldier reported. “Quiet as a grave. But it was open.” “Ain’t that interesting,” Mal commented. “gotta be important, somehow. What’s this room supposed to do, anyhow?” “Supply room,” Johnny said, after scanning the flexi map he carried. “Supposed to have lubricants, spare parts, and supplies.” “Interestin’,” Mal said with a grunt. “Y’all see ought else suspicious?” “No,” admitted Book and Johnny, after examining the door. “Good,” Mal said, slinging his carbine and drawing his pistol. “Time to tempt fate!” He lifted his boot and kicked the door, just as Inara yelped for him not to. There were no explosions, hisses, or anything else that indicated Mal had triggered a trap with his brash entrance. He found a light switch and activated it, bathing the room in light and revealing quite a collection of wire. Spools of it were everywhere, as well as cans and bottles, tools, and the like. “Yep. Storage,” he said with satisfaction. “Was hopin’ for treasure, though,” he admitted. “Next time,” Book soothed. “Providing you don’t get us all killed by doing something crazy again.” “Can’t help it. I’m impetuous.” “You could have gotten us all killed,” insisted Inara. “Mal, if you’re going to be in charge, try to set a good example.” “What, that weren’t worthy enough for you?” he asked. She blushed. “Johnny, mark down how we bravely captured the Great Wire Monster in the log. And no treasure. Repeat, no treasure.” “You want to take a five minute break before we press on?” asked Johnny. Despite the cool air, he was sweating with the exertion of the pace they were keeping. Mal considered. “Sure. Five, and then we push on for another hour. If we don’t get lost. Loster,” he corrected. “You sure that’s wise?” Book asked. “Might be. Might not be. But I don’t want the men surprised when they’re tired. Lots of little breaks are better than one big ‘un.” “You really think we’ll see anything?” Inara asked. “I mean, we’ve been going for two hours, now, and all we’ve seen is more corridors and that gaping pit of a repair hold.” “Ambassador, for all I know they got a mastodon tucked around the next corner. Just ‘cause we ain’t seen it yet don’t mean it ain’t there. Truthful? I’m a might concerned about the lack of opposition thus far, but I learned a long time ago not to spit in the eye of fate.” “That’s feh hua,” Inara countered. “You spit in the eye of fate all the time.” “Well . . . yeah, but it sounded good.” “Personally, I don’t think we’ll see anything,” she decided. “Maybe a robot or something. Some locked doors. But I really don’t think there’s anything else on this whole nightmarish maze of a ship.”

*

*

*

Seven decks below Gamma Team, and three sections forward, in a long, narrow room packed with row upon row of eight-foot tall cylinders, lights started flashing on a dozen containers. Within two minutes the control panel beeped, there was a hiss and a cloud of vapor. Then the cylanders split in two, opening outwards, and twelve naked men fell out onto the floor. They all vomited a bit, not that there was much in their stomachs, but they were on their feet moments later, their systems having been injected with adrenaline and other chemicals to hasten their journey into wakefulness. After a few moments of replenishing the oxygen in their lungs and getting their orientation, they began stretching. The first man to return to consciousness looked with satisfaction at the seal over the head of his hibernation capsule. He saluted the emblem, then turned to the others and began singing a regimental song that hadn’t been heard in over a hundred years. The others quickly joined in, until the big empty room echoed with the strength of their combined voices. At the end he shouted a war-cry, and addressed the others. “My brothers!” he said in a voice that hadn’t been used in a century. “We have returned to the living! We are the first of many! We have stayed faithful, while the ‘verse has gone on without us! Let the stars sing again of our valor! Let the worlds of the ‘verse tremble when they hear our names! Let us arm ourselves and search for that which has been lost! Let us seek our beloved Master, and pledge to him or his descendents our eternal service!” The naked men shouted in agreement, and as they started singing the regimental song again each one reached up and hit the seal over their capsule, revealing clothing, armor, and weapons. As they dressed the rough music of their voices echoed in empty compartments. If the stars took note, they did not show it.