BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

SCREWTHEALLIANCE

The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu -- Chapter Fifty-Seven
Friday, February 3, 2006

Kaylee gets vocational. Julian gets confrontational. Shan Yu gets conversational.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 3288    RATING: 10    SERIES: FIREFLY

The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Fifty Seven

DELTA TEAM -37:48

“They’re all humped,” Kaylee said, sadly, as she looked at the sealed reactor core of the Marauder on the rolling lift. At least it was supposed to be sealed. Her pressure check showed a dozen leaks, most of them at points where the seals came into contact with other parts. Ordinarily that wasn’t a problem small ships had – but ordinarily the seals hadn’t been trying to contain the reactive materials for over a century, either. There was no real leakage now, but put the reactor into service and as soon as the coolant and fuel gasses put real pressure on them the seals would fountain radioactive material like a spacesuit with a screen door. “Every last seal. It’ll take me hours to replace them all.” She was feeling very discouraged – she had spent the last three hours just tearing it out of the Marauder. That had involved a lot of consulting the manual, finding the right tools, and improvising when she couldn’t. “We don’t have hours, darlin’,” Wash said gently. “Why not check and see if there’s a new one in the spare parts shop?” Kaylee smacked her grease-stained face with her grease stained hand and rolled her eyes. “Well ain’t I an idjit! Damn if you ain’t right! So used to workin’ without real spares, never thought about that. They’d have a few of these things sittin’ around, they gotta. Probably packed in pressured Xenon, to keep the stress off the seals during storage.” She looked up at the pilot gratefully. “You so smart, Wash.” “Just lazy,” the pilot admitted with a smirk. “I didn’t like the thought of all that work, even if we could find proper equipment to re-seal a reactor.” “Hell, for that matter, why don’t we just look for spares for all the other go se that’s busted on this crate?” Kaylee asked. “I mean, we got her mostly torn down, already. Instead o’ bustin’ our asses tryin’ to cobble somethin’ half-assed back together, we can just slap in all new avionics modules, pressure tanks, fuel cell intakes, maneuvering thrusters – all of it!” she said, brightly. Then she yawned widely. “Sorry, need a nap,” she confessed. “You and me, too,” agreed Wash. “I haven’t been awake this long since flight school. Just make sure you check everything three times – hate to have Master Lei get out there an realize that he left his engines back here. Might embarrass him.” “Master Lei?” Kaylee asked, dully. “You know any other fully qualified and experienced fighter pilots on board? ‘Cause I don’t.” “You make a strong point,” agreed Kaylee. “How long before you can get her in shape, with the revised maintenance schedule?” “If the parts are in stock – which they should be – and with your help – which I’ll have, and no wrigglin’ out of it! I should be able to have her ready for testing in about another . . . call it three hours. Not counting bathroom breaks.” “No one said you could pee,” warned Wash. “Gonna be a messy ship if I can’t,” she countered. “Okay, okay, you can pee,” the pilot conceded. “If you must.” “You dig up any ordinance for this thing yet?” she asked, getting to her feet with an unladylike grunt. “Yep, that was the other piece of happy news I was bringing. There’s an ordinance locker two decks down, and a direct freight elevator to it. Full yield EMPs, ship-to-ship explosives, long range, short range, anti-missile-missiles, all sorts of nasty big booms. I’ve got an analyzer running tests on a batch. Should sort out any duds. I’ll bring ‘em up when we’re ready.” “Good. Now get to checkin’ the cockpit seals. Won’t be as leaky as the reactor, but a hundred years ain’t gonna be kind on ‘em. And even if Master Lei is going to be wearing a pressurized flightsuit, I’m sure he’d want at least a little atmo in the cockpit for comfort’s sake.” “Aye aye, Captain Back-End, Sir,” Wash said, throwing her a mocking salute. “I’ll get right on it. You go shopping in the spare parts warehouse, see what you can dig up.” He thought for a minute. “I wasn’t gonna tell you this, neither, to preclude any distractions, but you should probably know. Got a message from Cap – they’re sending the Shepherd and more wounded back. Inara, Simon and Zoe are all gonna be with ‘em.” “Oh, that is good news,” she agreed enthusiastically, her greasy smile beaming. “There’s more: they found some kinda frozen Yuanese princess down there that Johnny is all moon-eyed over. They thawed her out ‘cause apparently we didn’t have enough interesting stuff happening in our lives right now. She’s headed back, too, and we’re to treat her as an honored guest.” “Shiny!” Kaylee said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll break out the good toilet paper, then.” “My thoughts exactly. Now you want the bad news? Or the really bad news?” “Uh, not really,” she replied, guiltily. “Tough. I’m not gonna be the only one with nightmares tonight. If we ever get to sleep, ever again, that is. They found some other folks who were frozen, but got thawed out, down there: a bunch of vicious commandos from olden days. Fanatics devoted to the old Tyrant. Part of Lei Fong Wu’s ‘surprise party’. Up to a hundred of them are heavily armed and are wandering around between us and the Engine Room. That’s who captured Book, Inara, and Mal, and jammed the radio. Inara and Mal got away, but not Book. And he’s been hurt.” “Oh, no! Not the Shepherd!” she said, plaintively. “He’s okay, now, but Kaylee, he’s been . . . you remember what Niska did to me an’ Mal?” The young engineer nodded, her eyes wide. “Well, Book got all that and more. He’s in bad shape.” “That is really bad news! Poor Shepherd Book! They . . . those ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng!” she exploded. Kaylee was awfully fond of the Shepherd. “Oh, that’s not the really bad news. The really bad news is who done it: another character from the deep freeze. Old guy. Shan Yu.” “Shan . . . Yu? The . . .” “Legendary tyrant, dictator, regicide, soldier, statesman, and really bad poet, famed in song, story and bad CorVue teleplay, yeah, it’s him in the creepy flesh. Apparently the old Emperor didn’t finish the job when he overthrew him. So now he and his followers are holding large parts of the aft section. And Mal and the others are going to have to get passed them to activate the engine room, and have just over a day to do it.” “Ohmygod! Ai ya women wanle!” “You got that right. So we better light a fire under our efforts here, or we could be caught in an embarrassing situation, what with Shan Yu and a howling horde on the ship, and the gorram frigate and its orbiting pack of deadly drones in the Black. Oh, and the humpin’ bounty hunters who are wandering around, looking for the Tams. If we’re gonna make it out of here, we need to cut us an escape route, and this baby looks like the only way to do it.” “I . . . I’m gonna need more coffee,” she declared, shoulders sagging. “Already ordered. And I’m sorry to have to push you, but we got no choice. Grab your wrench and get to steppin’, sweetie. Every minute we have left is precious.” “God . . . Shan Yu. Shan Yu? That’s . . . that’s just plain wrong!” “’Verse is like that sometimes,” agreed Wash. “It ain’t fair. It’s wrong. In a perfect ‘verse there’d be no Shan Yu . . . and no taxes, death, insipid commercials, pesky shipping regulations or two-bit politicians. ‘Course, if it was fair I wouldn’t have married Zoe, either so there you go. Just usually it’s unfair in the other direction.” *

*

*

HAMMERSTRIKE TEAM ONE -37:21

“You about ready to do this?” Julian asked the volunteer. The ignorant young mercenary nodded enthusiastically. “My daddy was part o’ the 12th Boros ForceRecon, the Deathdealers!” he said eagerly. “ ‘First In, Last Out’! Got a hankerin’ to follow up the family tradition!” “Browncoat regiment?” Julian asked with a sigh. The boy nodded solemnly. Julian had mixed emotions about hiring former Independents. Browncoats had been decent soldiers, no doubt about it – you couldn’t fault their bravery. They had pulled off some amazing victories based purely on their gall and nerve. But they had just as often gotten themselves killed because of a lack of training, discipline, or both. His original organization had veterans from both sides in it, of course – too many good, talented warriors to be picky about politics – but the former Browncoats often took a little more remedial assistance to bring them up to his high standards. He tried to preserve the spirit, though. Browncoat regimental pride ran high, morale had frequently been through the roof – but that also had made them cocky and careless and possessed of an over-stated sense of their own immortality. That young . . . Wheaton? Williams? Winton? was a second-generation Browncoat, eager to follow in his disgraced daddy’s footsteps, made him twice as cocky and perhaps as careless. More brains than sense. Which unfortunately made him perfect for attempting the catwalk. “Good luck, son. Don’t take too many chances. Just a nice, steady crawl, check it out, report back. Don’t need any heroes today.” “Aw, ain’t no one up there,” he dismissed. “We been starin’ at that gorram doorway for over two hours, now, and not one sign o’ life.” “Things are not always what they seem, son,” cautioned Julian. “Just be careful. First sign of trouble, you come back.” The boy nodded and took off across the wide lobby floor. He made it to a huge planter with no problem, threw a grin and a thumbs up back to his mates, then cautiously slunk to the floor and started crawling on his belly up the stairs to the catwalk. He had made it to the top step when he got careless and stood up. When nothing happened, he turned and winked, then strode confidently across the catwalk. Julian held his breath and tried not to scream curses. About half-way across the platform there was a heavy report, and the young idiot was down. Shotgun blast, Julian knew, 12 gauge and close by. “Gorram it!” Julian exploded. “I told him . . .” “Boarding Party!” a deep male voice called out over a public address system. “Stand down! This is a well-defended position! We have control of the anti-intruder systems on this deck, and we will not hesitate to use them to defend ourselves from your unlawful incursion!” Swearing under his breath, Julian used his own radio’s PA function to answer. “This is the Hammer Group, and we are in lawful pursuit of wanted fugitives! You stand down! You are bound by law!” “In a rat’s ass!” came the laughing reply. “Upon whose authority have you illegally boarded this ship?” “We have warrants of arrest for several fugitives. We are fully deputized under Alliance authority to execute them.” “This isn’t Alliance territory!” the man said. “Under the principal of Universal Jurisdiction, everywhere is Alliance territory.” “Perhaps in your theoretical universe, but here and now you are on a spaceship, and under common space law I am the captain and therefore the final sovereign authority aboard this ship.” “How can you be captain?” Julian scoffed. “This old pile is a wreck!” “She’s under power,” countered the man. “And if she is legally a wreck, then we legally have salvage rights to her, which still makes me captain. So you can leave peacefully, or leave in pieces, but either way you’re going to leave!” “You can’t hope to claim salvage on a ship this size!” “I don’t need to. This ship was the personal property of the Emperor of Yuan.” “That’s a crock. There is no Emperor of Yuan anymore!” “There doesn’t need to be. The original owner’s title passes by law to his next-of-kin, regardless of their legal status,” countered the man. “And I am a direct descendent of the original owner. As are others aboard. Therefore, this ship belongs to us under rights of salvage, as well as by natural inheritance law.” “Oh, and did you pay inheritance tax on this ship, then?” Julian asked sarcastically. “Don’t need to. This ship has yet to land in a local jurisdiction where inheritance taxes apply.” Julian had to admit to himself that he was right. While Alliance taxes were assessed primarily on trade goods and corporate earnings, matters such as inheritance taxes on property were assessed by planetary governments. If this ship wasn’t on the ground, she wasn’t subject to the tax. “Enough of this fei hua!” he exploded. “I’ve got your asses surrounded, and I’m telling you that you’re bound by law!” “And we are oh, so impressed by that,” the man laughed sarcastically. “Face it, Hammer, you got no authority and no rights here.” “I’m after fugitives,” Julian said calmly. “Give me the Tams and we’ll walk away.” “Oh, you will not. Let’s not beat around the bush, shall we? You want us dead or captured – all of us. There’s a price on my head by now. Probably everyone involved has had charges filed by now. And I’m not inclined to go quietly. I’m a peaceful man, by nature, you know.” “That’s why you killed one of my men?” “I saved his gorram life! If he took three more steps he would have triggered the laser response system. Would have sliced him into tofu. Didn’t want to see that happen, so I shot him. So here is the situation: you will come retrieve this young fool – he isn’t dead, I used a beanbag load – and you will turn around and go back the way you came. You will board your shuttle, and you will go back to that gorram frigate. Then you will leave this system. If you’re smart, you’ll forget you ever saw the Sun Tzu and go back to busting illegal slavers and bond jumpers. You’re in over your head, Hammer.” “Go se. You’re the one in over your head. I will not stand here and have you and your evil minions plot the overthrow of the Alliance, not while I have breath in my body!” He was relieved to see his erstwhile scout move a little bit. The man had not lied – the shotgun had been loaded with non-lethal shells. “Evil minions? Overthrow the Alliance?” the man laughed, wryly. “You sound like a bad teleplay, Hammer. Where’d you get an idea like that?” “You know my name – any chance I could find out who I’m negotiating with?” “My name is General Lei, of the Yuanese Imperial Armed Forces in Exile. And these aren’t negotiations. They’re a warning. Any more attempts to take the Bridge by force will be met with far more lethal response than a beanbag in the gut. This ship has all sorts of ugliness and hate I can use.” General Lei. One of the most celebrated and storied leaders of the Unification War. Daring, brilliant tactical mind, and stubborn as they came. No, the bridge would not be gained by gunfire here. “How about we talk about this face to face?” Julian proposed. “A real sit-down negotiation? Might be able to sort all of this out without recourse to violence.” “That’s a truce you won’t honor, and we both know it. What’s there to talk about, anyway? You aren’t going to stop until one side or the other is dead. You can act all diplomatic, but that’s the end result. And I don’t plan on dying. From where I’m standing, we hold all of the cards, you got nothing.” “I’d say I got one thing,” Julian called back. “I got this little radio device that will detonate the entire atomic arsenal we passed a while back. Blow this whole ship into dust, you don’t cooperate.” “That’s . . . that’s a compelling argument,” the General admitted. “Tell you what: let me talk to my people, we’ll come up with a way we can talk without fear of any unpleasantness erupting. If we can, we will. Got no desire to see anymore dead kids today, and I’m sure you don’t, either.” “You’re right. Fine, go talk to your people. I want to hear back within the hour, or . . .” “Or what? You’ll blow everyone up? Don’t make idle threats, Hammer. We’ll talk, don’t worry. We got a lot to talk about.” A few moments silence convinced him that the general had faded back behind his security barriers. With a nod, two of his men ran up, grabbed the fallen scout by his ankles and quickly pulled him back under cover. The medic bent down to examine his wound, and another quick thumbs up from him told Julian that the boy was alive. The General hadn’t lied. “This ought to be interesting,” he said, sitting down behind a stone bench. “looks like we may find out the extent of their plans yet.” He sighed heavily and pulled out a ration pak – Alliance standard fare that tasted like carefully made crap. “Stand down everyone, all but the sentries. We got forty five minutes or so before they come back. Grab a bite, a smoke, or a nap, your choice.” He tore into his flavorless ration and shook his head. It was time to call Sinclair about this mess. He’d want to know. Maybe he’d even have an idea about how to get them all out. Sinclair was good at that sort of thing.

*

*

*

35th TACTICAL ASSAULT UNIT -35:58

The Major looked out at the formation of his remaining troopers – over fifty of them, now, but all in top fighting shape – and smiled. They had encamped in an empty dropship bay, nearby the Armored Vehicle Storage area, a place where an entire armored battalion could load up for deployment. It was huge, and had good defenses and decent facilities near by. Of the three command posts they had had in the last day and a half, it was by far the roomiest. Cavernous, was more like it, with a huge, open expanse of floor that could be opened to allow a combat shuttle to enter a huge airlock below. The men had set up around the edge of the space, quickly and efficiently, before being called to order. The men were all in good spirits despite the losses they had taken. The bandit’s counter-attack on the site under the reactor coolant tower had been strong, but the bulk of his people had left by then. The bandits had killed a handful of men and recaptured their prisoners, but the Master was actually delighted by that. After what he had done to the preacher and the two commandos, the bandits would think twice about attempting to get in the way of the White Tigers ever again. That Shepherd had received the brunt of his Master’s interest. It was unlikely the man would ever be right again. Unless he missed his guess, the bandits were already headed off of the Sun Tzu in a panic. At least one gang of bandits, that is. Another group, unallied with the preacher’s, had also boarded and had somehow made it to the Engine Room. They now held it in force, building barricades around it and setting up infantry support guns to protect it. But despite their capture of the target, they had yet to activate the four mammoth reactors the ship needed to get underway. He didn’t know why this was, but he was about to find out. He looked down at the new prisoner, who had already soiled himself, if the pool of urine under his bound form was any indication. Captured while guarding one of the routes to the Engine Room, he was even worse off than the commandos they had captured earlier. His equipment seemed new enough, a matte black armor vest sporting a logo featuring a stylized hammer, and the man had been carrying a new-seeming carbine that the Major was unfamiliar with. But the clothing underneath seemed to be some sort of cast-off military uniform, his boots were roughly tanned hide and clearly of frontier manufacture, and his face was covered with an unkempt beard that no military in the ‘verse would have put up with. It was as if the prisoner was a colonial barfly just pretending to be a soldier. The Anglic man cowered in front of him, jaw shaking with fright, long hair tied back in a messy ponytail, scraggly beard wet with spittle and tears. “What is your name?” the Major asked, gently. “Rol-rolson, Sir,” he whimpered. “Jefferson Rolson.” “Where are you from, Rolson?” “I was born on Ezra. Moved to Madonna when I was a kid.” “I am unfamiliar with either place. What is your rank?” “Don’t rightly have no rank.” “Who do you work for, then?” “H-hammer Group, Sir. Bounty Hunters. We . . . we’re lookin’ for someone.” The Major smiled grimly. “Well, you certainly have found someone now, haven’t you?” “Y-yessir, looks like I have. Who are y’all?” “We are your captors, and that is all you need to know right now. How many men are guarding the Engine Room?” “Uh, I don’t think I should tell you, Sir. Don’t seem . . . well, don’t seem right.” “That’s very honest of you,” soothed the Major. “Your loyalty to your comrades does you credit. Now, let us see just how far that loyalty extends: I will give you to the count of three to tell me everything that I want to know, or I will slice off one of your testicles. You know, losing a testicle is not the end of a productive life: with only one you may still father children. And your sex drive will likely be unaffected. But—” “Twenty-Six! There’s twenty six of us at the Engine room, give-or-take a few. We’ve had problems.” The Major laughed, and turned to the men. “So much for loyalty from a mere bounty hunter!” The men joined in his derisive laughter. “So, have you been able to activate the engines?” “N-nosir, the officers, they said that they ain’t respondin’ proper. Computers all humped up or somethin’.” “What were your orders?” “Orders? I was on guard duty.” “Not your personal orders, idiot, your group’s orders!” “I guess just to take the Engine Room an’ hold it. Ain’t heard no different, and that was what we was supposed t’do, when we got off the shuttle.” “I see. Very well, then. Gentlemen,” he said, turning towards the formation and ignoring the man’s existence after that. “We have an objective to take. We outnumber our foes two-to-one or more. We are familiar with this ship. And we have the inspiration of our Master to bolster us. “However,” he said, as he paced down the long row of soldiers, “we are in no hurry. We have strained ourselves, and too many of us have yet to fully recover from hibernation. While I do not doubt that we could walk over them in the face of their with toy guns and sharp sticks and take the objective, there is a possibility that some of you might be wounded in such an operation, and that is not a risk I’m willing to take for a few bandits – ‘bounty hunters’, sorry. “Therefore we will secure our perimeter, post guard patrols on the exits, and send out a few more scouts, just to confirm what the ‘brave’ Mr. Rolson has told us. Those who are not on duty will be required to sleep and eat. We shall do this for the next six hours. On the seventh hour, we should be sufficiently restored to fight. We will attack, take the Engine Room, and restore full power to the ship. Thereafter we will send a detatchement to the Bridge and gain full control of the ship.” He looked around. “Questions?” There was an almost imperceptible stirring among the men, until finally a sergeant crisply stepped forward. “Sir!” “Yes, Sergeant?” “Sir! What is our course of action after we regain the ship?” That was the one question the Major didn’t have an answer to. And the one he most wanted to hear an answer on. “Good question, Sergeant. I will allow our Master to explain. Please join me in singing the Song of Praise and Respect while the Master inspects our readiness.” The uncomfortable stirring from before transformed into an excited murmur – most of them had only heard that the Master was alive, or had watched his revivification from hibernation, and had yet to see him in the flesh. With a curt nod a private who stood by a doorway opened the door, and the splendid figure of the Warlord, Shan Yu, Regent of Yuan and Protector of T’ien and Wuhan, Conqueror (almost) of Xiao, stood, resplendent in a long off-white coat with large gold buttons and powder-blue trim. On his head sat the traditional tall cylindrical hat of the Warlord. Everyone prostrated themselves. The Major contented himself with a deep and respectful bow. Shan Yu came forward and motioned them to rise. The Major began the song, but by the third word every Tiger was singing loudly, proudly, and excitedly. Shan Yu passed down the ranks, stopping at every third or fourth soldier, and occasionally requested the man’s weapon or asked the man a question. By the time he had made the rounds he had rejoined the Major in front of the formation. “My brave warriors, my splendid Tigers,” he began, kindly. “Fate has played a curious trick upon us.” There was absolute silence as every man hung on every word the Master uttered. “Yes, a trick. Our glorious Empire is in ruins. Our homeworlds are now subject to the unclean offworlders, some pathetic remnant of the old Anglo-American Alliance.” He funmbled in a pocket of his robe for a moment, then pulled out a hundred-credit Alliance banknote that they had liberated from the earlier prisoners. It was an ugly thing of blue and green and red – nothing like the whitenotes of Imperial Yuan. “Here is the symbol of this pathetic Alliance! So weak are they that their empire was nearly split by a handful of ill-equipped rebels, just a decade ago. What hope have they of withstanding truly brave warriors, well led and equipped? Shall you rescue your homeworlds from their unclean clutches? They sit even now as virtual slave-states to this malevolent entity. What of our proud navy? What of our glorious army? Gone! Your kinfolk – the cream of the Thousand Families – have been killed or forced into exile. The Amber Phoenix throne, once usurped by my disloyal ministers, is now a dusty curiosity in a museum. Our old lives our finished. Our old imperial hopes are dead. “But we are alive! We are free! And we have this magnificent warship at our disposal. It is my plan to turn this misfortune into opportunity. Our Empire is gone – we shall build a new one. Where once we were constrained by treaty and custom, hampered by political necessity and forced to compromise due to political expediency, now we may pursue our Empire unhindered! We shall rebuild our Empire, and every man here shall be regent of his own world, ruling in my name. We are few, now, but we will soon add to our strength, and in adversity we will prosper, until we are once again the masters of the galaxy, as the gods themselves have ordained!” There was a great, joyful cheer. “You may wonder how you came to be here – how I came to be here. You are here because I had you suspended, pending our invasion of Xiao – an invasion which would have led to our inevitable victory, and to greater conquests beyond that. But the invasion did not happen. One of my weak-willed, treacherous ministers violated his oath to uphold my rule, and placed me in suspension. I was the victim of a coup,” he said, sorrowfully. Which was ironic, the Major knew, as Shan Yu had come to power in a coup against the old Imperial family. “The fates have played a trick on us, but it was a curious trick. We were not slaughtered out of hand. We were not imprisoned, or tried by our inferiors. Instead we were put out of our time, taken away from the zenith of our age, our culture. We stand now on the edges of a rich and decadent culture that is ripe for conquest. For whatever reason, we were spared. We shall not waste this opportunity. The gods smile upon us, and the Way is with us. But what shall we do now? Once we have taken control of this ship?” He looked around. A born speaker and leader, Shan Yu had every man’s attention, held every Tiger’s soul in the grip of his words. “First, we shall conquer the world below us, Hecate. The Empire was a heavy investor in the Hecate Company – we shall recoup that investment! What was once a barren, rocky moon in our time, at the very earliest stages of terraformation, is likely a vibrant, rich world after a hundred years or more. Yet the fact that we have yet to be boarded by any Alliance military tells us that there is no large military presence here. But there must be people, and people can be made into servants and slaves. There must be resources, fuel, food, perhaps factories we can turn towards munitions. We will take what we need, whom we need – and I promise you now, each of you will take two concubines of your choice, as a reward for your steadfast service!” Rousing cheers at that promise. Most of the men were starting to realize just how long it had been since they had been able to visit the unit’s Comfort Brigade. “After establishing our rule on Hecate, we shall use the cortex to discover what other worlds are nearby, there for us to conquer. Each one will yield us new recruits – each one will add to our wealth. In a year, we shall be the master of three worlds. In five years, we shall master twenty. And in ten years, we shall regain our Empire of Yuan, and all of her colonies, and take Xiao once and for all!” Shan Yu’s voice raised higher and higher as he spoke, until he was nearly screaming at the end, and the Tigers added their voices to his in an ebullient cheer. But someone was laughing. The prisoner. Rolson. The Major stooped down to look the laughing man dead in the eyes. “What is so funny, insect?” he hissed. “It’s just that – it’s just that – Oh, Jesus, this is funny! Y’all don’t know . . . Y’all have no clue about – Oh, this is rich!” He cackled away. Shan Yu spared him a glance. “Have you drained him of use?” he asked quietly. “Yes, Warlord!” “Cut out his tongue.” Instantly the Major drew an obsidian-sharp dagger from his belt, and while the filthy bandit howled in protest he seized his tongue and cut it out. The howling continued, but the Tigers paid it no heed. As the prisoner choked and spat blood and made horrible, wordless sounds of loss and pain, the Major leaned forward and whispered in his ear: “Keep quiet, or he will request your eyes, next.” The man’s howls immediately decreased, and only a muted whimpering was heard after that. “We shall discover the greatest new military technologies of this age, and exploit them. We shall discover who and where our foes might be, and we shall rain upon them radioactive fire, and carve their puny worlds with our mighty lasers. We will return the pride of our people to our worlds. And we will make the furthest reaches of the ‘verse tremble at the mere mention of our names!” “Shan Yu! Shan Yu! Master! Master!” the Tigers chanted. Someone started singing the Song of Praise and Respect again. The Major felt a surge of emotion and joined in, even as Shan Yu serenely surveyed his people, a calm and pleasant little smile on his lips. When he saw the Major looking at him, the Warlord caught his eye and leaned over. “With these men at our command, who would dare stand against us?” The Major had no answer for that. But he had an inkling that someone, somewhere, would try. And he looked forward to that day.

COMMENTS

Friday, February 3, 2006 2:25 PM

RELFEXIVE


Definitely a great line :)

But I'm with Rolson, rolling in the aisles. They've got no clue.

Mwuahahahahaaaaa.


Oh, and SHINY!!

Sunday, February 5, 2006 10:19 AM

JANETLIN


Wow. Wow. Shan Yu is inspiring, that's for sure.

Sunday, February 5, 2006 11:51 AM

TAYEATRA


Yay! More torture. Is it wrong that I find that amusing?

Taya

Sunday, February 12, 2006 8:09 AM

BELLONA


*joins rel and rolson in aisles* hahahahahahahaha!!!!

b


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