The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Forty-Eight

GAMMA TEAM -54.04

They paused when they reached the bottom of the stairwell. Mal pressed a small .38 into Inara’s hands, and taking the hint Johnny passed his revolver to Nyan Nyan without inquiring as to whether or not she knew how to make use of it. “Y’all hang back,” Mal murmured as he put his shoulder against the door. Sporadic shots could still be heard from the other side, though not directly on the other side. “Mal!” Inara pleaded, “you can’t just go barging in there!” “Hey! Gotta knock out that worthy deed!” he teased, grinning. ‘Just keep your pretty face behind this door ‘til we come back.” “This shouldn’t take but a moment,” agreed Johnny, turning his baseball cap around backwards. “Ready?” he asked, bringing his submachine gun up to his shoulder. Mal nodded, then pushed the door open with his shoulder. He immediately crouched and bore to the left, while Johnny came out right behind him, high and to the right. Inara and Nyan Nyan went half-way back up the stairs, out of the line of fire. The smell of burnt powder filled the air with a faint haze the atmoconditioning had yet to dissipate. The hallway was deserted, save for the body of one of the men – Fong, it turned out, down on his back with his weapon still in his hand. He had taken four shots across his armor and a fifth in his left shoulder and was unconscious. Mal checked his pulse while Johnny covered him, then made a low run over to the intersection and took cover. There was the hammer of a machine pistol up ahead and around the corner to the left, and both men hurried towards it. Just as they were ready to round the corner another of the men – Corporal Hwong, it was – retreated down the corridor into their position, firing his weapon. A spray of bullets swept over him, catching him across the upper torso and hitting his face twice. He made a gurgling sound as his brains splattered against the wall behind him. Johnny winced. He’d been a friend of Hwong’s. “Not good,” he whispered. “Let’s see how not good,” Mal agreed. “Cover me!” He ducked around the corner at about knee-height at the same time Johnny risked a single eye and hand around the corner, firing nearly blind down the corridor. There was someone back down there, he saw, but they were moving and there was too much smoke in the corridor to make out any details while he was aiming. “Three of ‘em,” Mal pronounced when they returned to cover. “In combat armor – weird looking stuff. Antique.” “Once again? And a little more conscious this time?” “Let’s do it,” Mal agreed, drawing his side-arm and another heavy-caliber automatic from behind his back. “You stay up top. Keep ‘em busy.” Johnny nodded and slapped a new magazine into his weapon. On a nod he repeated his covering maneuver, this time taking more care to spray his bullets in more or less the right direction while avoiding the spray that came back at him. In the mean time, Mal thrust himself out into the hallway on his side, bringing up both pistols and taking a half-dozen aimed shots before rolling over to the other side of the corridor and back into cover. “That was productive,” he said as he reloaded both his pistols, holstered them, then picked his carbine back up. Got at least one.” “I think I did, too. Want to stick your head out and see?” Before he could answer they both spun to cover the corridor, where Cho, Deng, and Chin emerged, guns ready. They each spared a glance for fallen Hwong and grimaced. “Welcome to the party, gentlemen,” Mal said. “At least one or two crashers at the end of the hallway. Let’s show them the door.” The men grinned grimly and took positions. On Mal’s signal they burst through the corridor all at once, carbines and rifles blazing. The enemies didn’t have much chance under such a storm of lead. By the time they were half-way down the corridor, all three foes were down in a bloody pile. “Who the hell are they?” demanded Mal as he approached, carbine aimed at the corpses. He disliked surprises. “Some of those frozen soldiers,” Cho offered. “Yeah, but who the awakened them?” Johnny asked pointedly. “Probably on automatic. Part of your ancestor’s trials. Remind me to thank his hologram for such an engaging evenin’.” “Lieutenant,” Deng asked, as he crouched near one and examined the body. “Do you notice anything strange about them?” “They’re . . . bleeding all over the deck from multiple gunshot wounds?” Johnny guessed. “No, sir. Well, yes, sir, they are, but that wasn’t what I meant. Take a look at their uniforms. A close look.” Johnny crouched next to Deng and had a look at the shoulder insignia. “The 35th TAU. Yeah, I remember their song. What about it?” “Sir, the 35th was stricken from the ranks a long, long time ago. They were the Tyrant’s private guard, his most loyal and fanatical unit. I’d always believed that they had been disbanded, or exiled, but this . . . well, these men are not going to be happy when they find out their Master is long dead. They swore a blood-oath to follow him even to the grave.” “Cute,” Mal sighed. “Don’t s’pose they was real big on negotiation?” “Mass-murder was more their speed,” agreed Cho. “Real mean bastards. Sadistic. More a cult than a proper Army unit. And they wore the colors of the Tyrant. Blue and White, not Red and Yellow, like the good Imperial Army soldiers.” “Great. Well, it looks like your honored ancestor wanted to really test y’all. And there could be any number o’ these boys hidin’ in the woodwork. So let’s police up the area and get a move on. Johnny, you see to makin’ Fong comfortable. See if he can’t make it back to Serenity, or at least out of the range of their jamming signal. The rest of us, we can push on.” They bent to their tasks. Inara and Nyan Nyan came out, and the Princess helped Johnny tend to Fong while Inara found Mal. “Where’s Book?” she demanded. “Missing in action,” admitted Mal. “So is Yu. My guess is they ducked down that hidey-hole, yonder,” he said, indicating the door at the end of the corridor, next to the security office. “Didn’t see much in the way of blood on the decks, so I’m hopeful.” Inara eyed the bloody mess on the bulkhead where Hwong’s gray matter still dripped. “How can you tell? They teach you that in soldier school?” “First day. Can’t rightly count this as a worthy deed, though, on account o’ I had help. I’m hopin’ we scared off any stragglers that were lurkin’ around. Either way, we best be movin’ soon.” Inara nodded, her face pale. “We gotta find Book and Yu,” she insisted. “It’s on the agenda,” Mal agreed. “But our first priority is the Engine Room. I’m thinkin’ the two issues will dovetail before all’s said and done.” “How many of those . . . soldiers are there?” “No tellin’. And no tellin’ where they are, how they’re armed, or nothin’ else particularly helpful. We can’t get a signal back to Serenity to call for reinforcements. We’re pretty much on our own.” Inara swallowed, put the pistol she carried in the waistband of her dress, and stooped to pick up Hwong’s carbine. She fumbled with it a moment, then her fingers seemed to figure out what they were doing and she ejected the spent magazine. “What do you think you’re doing?” Mal enunciated slowly. “I’m going to help rescue Book,” Inara said, matter-of-factly, as she slung the weapon. “Now where would you get a fuh luh idea like that?” “I can pull a trigger. You’re two men down. You need me.” “I don’t need a gorram non-combatant on a strike mission. I was gonna send you an’ Nyan Nyan back to Serenity with Fong.” “Well, you were a good soldier by all accounts,” she said, as she struggled to pull Hwong’s armor off his body. “You should be able to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances.” “ ‘Nara, this ain’t no place for a Companion!” he said, a trace of scorn in his voice. “Not two weeks ago I killed a man and maimed another in cold blood with a two and a half foot long piece of pine,” she related. “I did it from a concealed position, but I did it. I killed a man.” “An’ you been just all daisies and sunshine ever since,” Mal complained. “I killed a man,” Inara repeated as she strapped on the armor, still stained with Hwong’s blood. “I’ll kill another, and another after that if it means saving Book’s life.” “Your karma ain’t gonna be happy about that,” Mal insisted. “My gorram karma is my gorram business, Captain,” she said coldly, slapping a fresh magazine into the chamber and drawing the bolt with a definitive snap. “Send Nyan Nyan back with Fong if you must, but I’m going after Book.” The point was rendered moot a moment later when the corridor behind them exploded, and then a second grenade landed at their feet. Without thinking Mal swept Inara up in his arms and pressed her against the bulkhead behind, shielding her body with his own. When nothing more dangerous than green smoke filled the room, he turned, his pistol drawn, to face the new threat. White-clad combat armored soldiers were clamoring through a new hole in the bulkhead, a mousehole they had somehow opened up with shaped charges. Mal shot one man in the face as he came through the smoke, and then hammered another twice in his breastplate before a spray of fire from Inara’s carbine sent him spinning to his knees. Mal fumbled and his left hand found his own carbine as he expended the last round in his pistol. Cho and Deng added their own fire into the confusing maelstrom, doing their fair share of damage to the troopers who kept coming through the mousehole – and kept coming, and kept coming. They were coming from two sides, the mousehole and the door at the end of the corridor. The ones from the corridor side overwhelmed Cho, and forced Deng back towards Mal and Inara. That meant there was no way left for them to escape. They would have to shoot a way out. Strangely, the soldiers were not using the machine pistols and assault rifles they carried, but instead bore hand-to-hand weapons and non-lethal stunners. That didn’t deter Mal. He was only a fan of fair play when it was in his favor. He emptied his carbine, dropped it and drew two new pistols, and shot until they were empty, too. When he heard Inara’s last pistol shot click on an empty chamber, he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. There were still plenty of troopers left in front of him. With his heart in his throat and a certain notion that he could not reload before they were upon them, he dropped his pistols and drew the only weapon he had left. “You look silly with that thing!” Inara said as she tried to reload. Mal held the sword only a little less poorly than he had at his duel on Persephone, despite the hours of practice. “Is this worthy enough yet?” he asked bitterly as the first rank of fanatics charged.

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Johnny had just been able to rouse Fong to consciousness when the explosion happened. One moment they were sitting in a quiet corridor, the next they were up to the eyeballs in tactical troopers. Johnny reacted quickly, kneeling into firing position and taking careful aim at each new soldier that came through. He had several good hits – they didn’t realize his position – while he saw Mal and Inara doing a competent job on the other side of the mousehole. “Gorram it! Get him up and out of the line of fire!” he ordered Nyan Nyan. To her credit she heaved Fong’s massive arm over her dainty shoulders and stood, half carrying him, and dragged him down the corridor. Johnny was about to advance into the fray when he saw a couple of lumpy objects sail through the air and start belching forth dark green, evil-looking smoke. Mal and Inara disappeared. Another dozen troopers appeared. He wasn’t going to give up. He had a shiny new knighthood and officers commission in a non-existant military to live up to. Not to mention a claim on whatever legacy his royal forebears had provided. He was almost out of ammo, and ready to pull his bat off of his back and charge hand-to-hand, when he felt a tug on his shoulder. He almost shot Nyan Nyan before he recognized her. “You cannot prevail here,” she whispered in his ear. “Retreat!” “Where?” he demanded, looking around. They could try for the stairs, but he didn’t relish the thought of all the nasty things that could happen in an enclosed stairwell on a spaceship. As to where the other passageways led, he had little idea. As the whole internal complex was self-contained and secure, ways out were limited. “Follow! I know a way!” Johnny tried to catch a glimpse of Mal and Inara through the smoke in vain. All he saw were more troopers – and they were aiming to get prisoners, from the look of their gear. His position would be untenable in moments. “Fine!” he spat. “Lead!” She grabbed his elbow and pushed him down the hall to a servant’s pantry, where she closed the door. There was a cot here, apparently for the night-servant, and Fong was on it, giving himself a shot of morphine and coughing. “Dead end!” complained Johnny fiercely. “No!” Nyan Nyan insisted. “A mistress learns all the secrets of her master’s house. Not all masters want their indiscretions known by their wives. Watch!” She opened the empty wine cabinet and pressed something in the back of it. The built-in wine rack swung forward to reveal a dark, narrow passage. “I was on this ship for six weeks before I . . . before your ancestor rescued the Yuanese people. Lei Fong Wu showed me where this was. It goes down to the laundry room, two levels below.” Wide eyed, Johnny nodded. Fong stood unsteadily and reloaded his own carbine, while Johnny did likewise. Nyan Nyan drew her borrowed revolver, took a deep breath, smiled, and plunged into the darkness. Fong went next, and Johnny, his mind full of apprehension and regrets, followed. Live or die, he had to admit he liked Nyan Nyan’s style. Most girls would have been hiding under a bed, squealing right now. The former Princess was calm and collected, as if she was a hostess at an elegant party. He only hoped they made it out alive, so he could ask her to dance.

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ALPHA TEAM -52:33

Master Lei had long exhausted his knowledge of English and Chinese swearing, and had moved on to Arabic and Pali as he worked his way through the test. They were directly outside of the Bridge, now, in a control room devoted to secondary systems. All of them were off-line at the moment, despite the return of the main computer. The men stood around and chatted, weapons at the ready but not brandished. They hadn’t encountered any serious resistance since the Officer’s Auditorium. Until they arrived here, just feet from their destination. The large blast door that protected the Bridge was designed to withstand full decompression and a truly staggering amount of damage. It was easily six inches thick. And it was guarded by one little monitor. A monitor that asked arcane questions about obtuse points of Confucian and Taoist scripture. Master Lei had begun the task confidently – he had studied the canons for most of his life, after all. After twenty questions his confidence had lapsed. At fifty it had disappeared entirely, to be replaced by loud cursing – which grew even louder at the seventieth question, which introduced Buddhists scripture. Master Lei hated that. “How much longer, you think?” Zoe asked the General impatiently. The older man shrugged and stroked his beard. “I’m guessing a nice round number of questions – I’m hoping they stop at one hundred.” “Gorram it!” the monk swore, following it with a particular vile curse in Arabic concerning only daughters and donkeys. “I hope so,” Zoe said. “I’m not real happy about leavin’ the Captain and the others all alone down there.” “No one is,” agreed the General. “The moment we activate the Bridge, I’m going to send the bulk of our force – yourself included – back to Serenity on the lift. You can meet up with the remnants of Beta Team and launch a search-and-rescue on your way to completing the Engine Room task.” “Gorram it!” A lengthy examination of the computer’s mother’s sexual proclivities followed in Pali. “The sooner, the better,” agreed Zoe. “Mal’s right talented at gettin’ into trouble. It’s my job to pull him back out again.” “He’s lucky to have you,” acknowledged the General. “And should you ever tire of his company, I’d be proud to make you an officer of the new Imperial Army.” “Ain’t that selling the colt afore the mare’s been brought to stud? Where you gonna park this Empire?” “Oh, we have ideas about that,” assured the General. If we can successfully secure the Sun Tzu, we shall steal off somewhere remote, reclaim the Thousand Families, and train. Then at an opportune moment we will strike, and once again rule Yuan and her colonies.” Zoe shook her head. “Ain’t gonna work, General.” “And why not? Don’t tell me the Purplebellies are going to be able to stand up against the Sun Tzu?” “Mayhap,” Zoe considered. “But that weren’t my objection. Y’all want to bring back the Empire. Fine. But you try to go into Yuan, which has become a big Alliance shipyard and military base, well, it’s gonna take more’n this ship, as big and bad as she is, to stand against them. And there’s the matter of the people . . .” “The people will rise to welcome us!” Lei insisted. “We had ample support on Yuan during the last war.” “That was one defeat ago,” Zoe reminded. “Gorram it!” Master Lei said, following it with a speculation on the likely paternity of the designer of the computer in Urdu. “The Yuanese people got roughed up powerful in the last war,” she continued. “Bioweapons, orbital bombardment, all sorts of nastiness. Still haven’t recovered. Those loyal to the Imperial cause, well, they ain’t in any position to help. Those who have a say in how the Alliance runs things, they gonna fight tooth ‘n’ claw t’keep their cozy little Fed jobs. Alliance is just too entrenched. Y’all might take Wuhan – from what I saw, that little chalkball could get took with a well-armed scout troop – but what would you have, then? A crappy little moon that you can’t hold forever. No, General, y’all gonna have to build a new Empire, if you want one. Or wait ‘till the Alliance collapses. Or both.” “Gorram it!” came the expletive from the doorway, followed by a harsh condemnation of the computer’s personal habits in Japanese. “Well, the Alliance will fall some day. We are living proof that Empires fall. But Empires can be built, too,” he conceded. “When the Alliance is weak, we will strike. Until then, we will build our strength.” “Gorram Buddhist crap!” another torrent of swearing, in a variety of languages and dialects, issued from the monk. “You do what you want, General. And while I appreciate the offer, I’m more inclined to stay where I am, ‘till our luck runs its course one way or th’other. Got me a man, which is more than I had to fight for in the war. Gonna live that life a while. I hope my best soldierin’ is behind me.” “Gorram it – hey, it’s opening!” Master Lei exclaimed. “One hundred and one. I was afraid it was going to go on all day.” Sure enough, the computer monitor had folded itself away and the great blast door slid slowly open, revealing a dark chamber inside. As they stepped through it, the lights came on, revealing a wide bank of controls just under a wide screen of viewports showing the surrounding space. “Brilliant!” the General said, clapping Master Lei on the back. He strode onto the Bridge of the ship as if he owned it already. “Your welcome,” Master Lei said dryly. He took out the assembled Map and looked around. Spotting a data port, he set the control for voice recognition, and cleared his throat. “In the name of His Imperial Majesty, Lei Fong Wu, I command you to activate!” he intoned. Immediately lights began to come on all over the room, and the hum of a hundred control systems came into being. Master Lei smiled tiredly, then placed the Map on the data port. It spun and locked, and the transluscent Map glowed briefly while data was shuffled around. Presently the ghostly form of Fong Wu appeared on the deck. “You have completed two of the tasks, and with two full days still to pass. Excellent!” it said. It seemed somehow more alive than before, more lucid and less machine-like. “Ancestor, I thank you,” Lei said, bowing. He didn’t sound grateful. “But why that inane battery of tests?” “To ensure that you were not merely a band of thugs,” the machine replied. “I expect my House to always maintain the high academic standards I’ve established. It is good to see that you have.” “You could have just asked,” the old master said sullenly. “You still have the final task to complete,” reminded the hologram. “And it will prove the most difficult by far. For within the depths of the engineering section lie dangers that dwarf the ones you have encountered.” “Good to know,” the General said, sourly. “Zoe, take the men, save one, back to Serenity. Link up with Beta Team and render assistance as needed. I’m going to work with the Heavenly Master to figure out how to drive this monstrosity when we do have power again.” “Yes, sir,” Zoe said crisply. “Where is the nearest lift station?” “There is a private lift that goes from here all the way back to the launch bays,” the hologram supplied helpfully. “You can return to your starting point within the next thirty minutes.” “Great,” Zoe commented sourly. “We’ve been humpin’ around this gorram place long enough. Let’s go get my captain.” She and the men found the lift door and departed in short order. “Now, let’s see what we have here,” the General said, eagerly. “It’s a standard Bridge, Nephew,” chided the monk. “There will be little of interest here until the main power is active.” “We can begin a systems’ check,” offered the General. “Find out if she’s sustained any damage in the last century.” “If you wish,” he replied with a sigh. “I can see you’re going to be unbearable until you do. Have fun with your toy. I’m more concerned with that.” “With what?” “That,” repeated Master Lei, pointing gracefully out of the main viewport. The General peered out at a tiny, glinting dot far beyond the jovian world. “What is it?” “Infantry!” spat the old monk. “You spent entirely too much time on the ground, Nephew. That is a ship.” “It looks like a moon,” General Lei said, uncertainly. “That is no moon,” Master Lei insisted. “Moons do not change course. That is a ship. Perhaps you can find some way to see who it is?” “Yes,” the General muttered, staring at the growing dot. “Yes, that might be prudent.”

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35th Tactical Assault Unit -53:15

Five prisoners. One old man. One ratty-looking officer in a leather coat. Two Sinic commandos. And one woman – a beautiful woman in a pretty dress – who had killed two of his men. None of them bore any recognizable insignia. All five were now bound and hoodwinked, laying up against the wall of his make-shift headquarters. They had killed seven of his men and seriously wounded four more – a surprisingly deadly contest. He was not used to losing members of the 35th. Nor was he pleased about it. He had his sergeant awakening the second platoon now, and they would be at his command in a few short hours. In the meantime, he had to move his command post. This cafeteria had become compromised – it was too close to where the invaders had encountered them. Should there be others, they would find them soon enough after investigating the site of the battle. He was certain that survivors had escaped, from what his men had told him. They would be back, and in force. So it was time to move. He had selected a command post on the other side of the hibernation chamber, a small section just below the cooling platform of Reactor 1. That should shield them from passive detection, at least for a while. At least until he got the remainder of his men awake. Then they could re-take the ship in the name of the Master. And find out what had happened with their Master. The legacy of the 35th had been distinct and special. They had been personally charged with laying in hibernation until needed to enforce the Master’s rule. There would come a time, he had said, when one of his generals would rise in rebellion against him. It would be necessary to have men he could trust, utterly, when that time came. So he had put them in hibernation against that day. And there was the matter of Xiao – he would need a special unit to enforce his will against the Xiao. The 35th represented the best of the best, hand-picked by the Master and pledged to his side for eternity. Even into death. So why had they been awakened? Only the Master had the codes to do that. Yet he was nowhere in evidence. The ship seemed deserted and unmaintained. There was no communication. There was no superior officer. There was just he and the 35th, and they had a legacy to follow. Find the Master. Then act as the sword in his hand while he struck back at his foes. “You!” he said, pointing to one of the commandos. His guards grabbed an elbow on each side and pulled him up standing. “Who do you serve?” “I serve the Empire!” the man said, stubbornly. “I am of the Thousand Families. We serve the rightful Emperor of Yuan!” “Hue and his incompetent brood are long dead,” the officer said evilly. “There is no Empire. No Emperor. There is only the Master, His Wisdom Shan Yu.” “Shan Yu is dead!” the commando said with temerity. “Why do you not follow him?” Silently the officer drew his side-arm and shot the man through the head. As his body fell to the deck, the woman whimpered. “There shall be no more lies like this. We will be taking you to someplace for a proper interrogation. There you shall tell me all I wish to know. Everything. We shall come to know who you are. We shall meet sides of you that you didn’t even know existed. And you will tell me everything.” “How about we save the trouble and I just tell you everything now?” asked the big Anglic with the ratty coat in a voice muffled by the bag over his head. “Save us all a lot of time. Might could clear up a thing or two without the need for pliers and such.” “Silence! All in time. Speak again and lose a finger. Sergeant! Prepare the prisoners for transport to the new headquarters. We leave in ten minutes. And leave no bodies behind. We shall leave no clues for our foes to follow.” His men hustled to do as he bade, while he looked over the items retrieved from the prisoners. A motley collection of guns, half of which the models he didn’t recognize. And a sword. “Why do you carry a sword?” he asked the big man. Corporal Shu and Private Anderson were being tended to now by his medic, suffering from cuts from the archaic weapon. “You may speak.” The man cleared his throat. “That’s . . . that’s kind of a long story,” he said. “See, that lady over there is—I’m assumin’ she’s over there, still, that is, from the perfume – well, she and I were on this planet, place called Salisbury, and we were in this bar. Well, more of a club than a bar, really, but—” “Silence! I’ve changed my mind. Save your barbaric babble for the torture chamber. We shall learn all about this place, this woman, this sword.” “Good to know,” the man muttered before he lapsed back into silence. The officer sighed. The man was a frontier bumpkin, probably from Persephone or Boros or one of those miserable, backwoods colonies where they had never seen a hovercar, much less a spaceship. He had been to Persephone, once. A miserable collection of wooden huts and pre-fabricated sheds, filled to the brim with noisy, ignorant farmers pretending to be lords and ladies. He hated those types. They were inclined to an excess of independence that he found distasteful, and entirely against the established social order. He would enjoy breaking this one. And the woman? He would enjoy her, too, but in a different way, and in a more leisurely fashion. She must be made to pay for the two men she killed. But all of that was secondary. First, it was his job to find his master. All other priorities were secondary right now. Shan Yu must be located . . . . . . or avenged.