The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Sixty-Eight

DELTA TEAM LEADER -25:55

Wash paused as he closed the console back up. It had struck him, finally. This was the stupidest gorram idea he’d had. Ever. The reasoning behind it was sound. How do you cross four thousand miles of naked, unforgiving Black with no engines? The answer was on his wings. Each of the missiles he had left in their racks was a multi-purpose tactical model, designed to do a variety of missions within a limited scope. They weren’t configured for atomics, chemicals or EMP – all those types of ordinance required specially designed vehicles. They were standard High Explosive charges. But they could be configured for a long, sneaky run at a target from a distance, using up every ounce of their fuel before they exploded . . . or they could be shot at a bad guy only a few hundred yards away. Or they could be shot into position and detonated at a particular time with a timer. That last element was the important one. Because between the two missiles, they had a substantial amount of propellant thrust available, thrust he could use. Thrust he needed desperately. His tinkering in the ordinance console had resulted in the override of safety protocols, which ordinarily wouldn’t allow the missile’s engine to fire while it was still secured to the wing – a sensible precaution. But now the engines would engage while still attached, lending both powerful motors to the cause. By Wash’s calculations, it would take about four minutes to burn through the fuel, but the thrust would be enough to move the inert bulk of the Marauder up to a respectable speed. Once the mass was in motion, it would stay in motion, thanks to Sir Isaac Newton, and the resulting momentum would, theoretically, push the ship into a trajectory close enough to the Sun Tzu’s docking port to use the maneuvering thrusters to dock. By his calculations, it would only take a little over three hours to traverse the distance. The only problem was that the warheads on the missiles could not be persuaded not to explode. Once the engines ignited, he was committed. And the maximum timer setting was exactly three hours. By jettisoning the spare parts cabinet, the secondary fuel pod, and everything else that wasn’t absolutely necessary, he could reduce the Marauder’s mass enough to fill the gap. Barely. Worst-case scenario, he would have no more than three minutes to dock, exit the capsule, and jettison the ship into space where it would explode harmlessly. Best-case scenario, he’d have six minutes. The difference didn’t mean much to Wash – if he had to, he’d settle for getting close enough to the warship to jettison and make the rest of the distance with the MMU in his suit. But he was reasonably certain he could get out of the cockpit and leave the vicinity before the bombs went off. Reasonably certain. Of course if they went off while the ship was in its cradle it would blow a sizeable hole in the deck, start an explosive decompression, and likely kill everyone in the bay – including everyone on Serenity. He shrugged off the thought. He took a chance blowing up the ship every time he got behind the stick. This was no different. Sort of. Still, putting all your hopes for a comfortable old age on the prospect of joyriding a couple of fifteen ton guided missiles was an inherently stupid idea. Nothing he could do about that. He took his time and jettisoned everything he could, taking a gigantic drink of water before exhausting the tank to space, and hoping that he wasn’t getting rid of anything he’d regret when the spare parts went trailing away behind him. He considered jettisoning his spare atmo bottle for his suit, then decided against it. It was only massed another ten pounds, after all, and if things didn’t work out he might could use it. Wouldn’t want to run out of atmo before he finished having regrets. When he couldn’t think of any more ways to stall he aimed the ship most carefully towards the docking cradle, wished for luck, sighed, and activated the missile. He had been floating in Zero-G for so long that he was almost caught by surprise by the thrust pushing him into his seat. For four long minutes he experienced a two-G push on his body, then the engines sputtered and he was coasting along like an arrow from a bow. All he had to do now was wait. And wait. He didn’t even have a deck of cards. Hoban Washburn, alias Wildfire, novice fighter ace and holder of a Class C commercial pilot’s license, stared off into the Black and turned his mind towards his wife . . . and potential kids. This whole experience had given him some new perspective on the subject. Sure, not much had changed objectively – he still wasn’t crazy about kids on a smuggler’s ship. But this round of intense combat, staring the jaws of death in the face (or whatever the proper metaphor was), seemed to have purged part of the whiney “I’m too young to be a father! I’ve got my own life to live!” argument his brain was having with itself. He had taken the ultimate risk for the ultimate good – and if he survived this, he would have to seriously reconsider his opinion on the subject. Besides, he had to have kids, so that they could have grandkids, so that he could sit by the fire someday and tell the improbable tale about how he once took a joyride on two guided missiles to save his life after defeating about a hundred vicious robot fighters. It was too good a story not to tell your grandkids, so he guessed that meant that he needed to have kids. Hard to have one without the other. He glanced up at the chronometer and sighed. That killed two minutes. Only a hundred and seventy two to go. He knew he should have brought a dinosaur to talk to.

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GAMMA TEAM REMNANT -24:14

The prisoners had been escorted one by one to the large, gloomy staging bay where the White Tigers had set up their base. They were seated on their knees in an uncomfortable position, their hands still secured behind their backs. They were spaced four or five feet apart to keep them from easily communicating, and they were separated into their two constituent groups, though River was stuck somewhere between them. She had lapsed into a kind of dull catatonia, not even articulating her words any more. If she actually saw her captors, she made no sign. Mal didn’t have any trouble seeing them. A hefty number of them – at least forty – stood around the captives with their stunners drawn and their rifles slung, looking the very picture of a crack military unit. That didn’t bother him. What bothered him was the wheeled table of torture implements that had been stationed in front of the group. Goetz had died by then, mercifully enough, and Fao was curled up in the fetal position whimpering pitifully at the front of the group. Mal had watched Campbell try to draw his eye a number of times, presumably to establish what, if anything, the commando had spilled to the Kitty-cats. So far he hadn’t been successful. Mal was getting a sinking feeling about this. He had been held captive a number of times – he’d been captured by Purplebellies on five separate occasions during the War, and managed to escape each time – but this was different. This felt more like an execution, and one he had a suspicion he would play more than a bit part in. When Shan Yu finally appeared, there was an immediate stiffening in the sore backs of the prisoners. There was no doubt who he was. His coat was a brighter white than the White Tigers, and his hat had a fringe of pale blue fur around its rim. It was clean except for a few understated bloodstains. Standing six foot three without the tall hat, he had a wizened expression that included a wispy white beard, fuzzy eyebrows, and eyes that were filled both with equal parts self-assurance and bat-shit-crazy insanity. Mal’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man. So this was Niska’s muse . . . Shan Yu walked sedately to the front of the room to stand next to that horrible cart. He waited a moment – for effect, no doubt – while he surveyed the prisoners before he spoke. “I am Shan Yu,” he began quietly. “I am – was – the Warlord and chief executive authority of what I have come to learn is the former Empire of Yuan. In my lifetime I have ruled three worlds, and much of a fourth. Despite what wild rumors you may have heard about me, I did this not because of any desire to power of my own, but because strong and decisive action was necessary to save the Empire in a time of crisis. “I have come to you like this because your comrades have been reluctant to tell me what I want to know. This ship – my ship – is currently running on emergency power from only two of the reactors. Unless the other reactors are brought online shortly, the consequences will be dire. Unfortunately, some miscreant has placed a password protection on the Engine Room system that precludes us from taking control of that section. Fortunately, one or more of you knows this code. I will try once, asking nicely, for the code. After that I will be forced to pursue . . . other means of discovering this vital information.” He looked pointedly at where Fao was rolling around on the floor, leaving a bloody smear wherever he went. “My methods can be quite persuasive, I assure you.” He looked up at them expectantly. Nobody said a word. Shan Yu waited until long past the point of comfortability for someone, anyone to speak up. When it was clear no one was willing he heaved a heavy, disappointed sigh. “It appears I must depend upon a more persuasive argument. From what Sgt. Fao has kindly told me, there are at least two of you who know this code. Bring them forward,” he ordered, and before he finished speaking four Tigers sprang into action, dragging Mal and Campbell to the front of the assembly. “Colonel . . . Campbell, I believe,” Shan Yu said pleasantly. “Late of the Imperial Military Intelligence Service, or whatever they are calling it these days. You sir, you will be a hard nut to crack.” He turned his attention to Mal. “You on the other hand, Captain Reynolds, I’m told were a mere infantry sergeant, unused to the rigors of painful persuasions. I think you will find your time with me will live up to every shred of my reputation, if not surpass it. This is not a forced march, Captain, nor will it be over like a single bullet on the battlefield. Sgt. Fao may attest to that. Please, spare yourself the pain and tell me the code,” he pleaded convincingly. “Oh, that is powerful kindly of you,” Mal assured him. “And can I just say that – well, I s’pose I can’t speak for everyone, but regarding me, personally, can I just say that I’m really scared? Really scared! Can I tell you that? Seriously? The tools, the guns, the blood – not too much, but just that hint of gore that leads the mind to all sorts of conclusions -- really, this is a first class operation! But it ain’t the props that do it, it’s you. You, Shan Yu, you have quite a talent for showmanship. This little dramatic moment up here, this has . . . oh, the butterflies, they’re awful! Like to leap out of my stomach!” “You . . . mock me?” the dictator asked, shocked. “Me? Do you not know who I am?” “Well sir, you’d make a damn fine master of ceremonies at any of the country fairs I’ve seen,” Mal pointed out. “Or maybe a burlesque show. Stage magic, maybe? You just have that . . . that presence. Folk just wanna hear what you got to say. It’s a gift, it surely is.” “You . . .” “Have you considered a career on the stage? Or maybe CV?” “I will make you wear your intestines for braces!” “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! The sneer, the malice in your tone – just a hair shy of over the top, but it works for you.” “I will take your fingers off one by one! I will have your heart!” “Well, sir, you can take my fingers – can’t really stop you, now, can I? But you can’t have my heart. Belongs to another, y’see. But I’m guessin’ I won’t be needin’ my liver too much longer. Will that do?” “You . . . gamble with agony, Sir! You dice with anguish!” Shan Yu said, struggling visibly to calm himself. Mal’s lighthearted words were having an effect. After years in power, the old dictator was used to universal respect – out of fear or loyalty, it didn’t really matter – but he demanded to be taken seriously. The easiest way to disarm him, make him lose his calm, was to ridicule him. “Well, I’ve been known to take a chance or two. But, considerin’ I ain’t got a whole lot to lose right now, it ain’t really much of a gamble, now, is it? So go ahead, take my fingers, take my liver, do what you want. Probably be a heck of a show – y’all watch careful, now! This man is a brilliant entertainer, jen duh sh tyen tsai, he’s got a real future! You can take all o’ that, but when everythin’s said and done that’s all you’ll have, ‘cause I ain’t about to hand you that ruttin’ code.” Mal spat the last few words quietly, but with total self-assurance. “And do you agree with that assessment, Colonel?” “Not at all,” Campbell said, quietly. “Really? And why is that?” “Personally – and this is only an opinion, mind you – I think you went over the top. The performance borders dangerously close to melodrama, and threatens to turn you into a cartoon villain, not a real representation of evil. It’s not that we don’t believe you’ll do all those things—we just don’t care. You have to make us care. You have to respect the audience – always! – because willing suspension of disbelief only works when they have a vested interest in the outcome, and your hyperbolic performance is, frankly, stretching the bounds of credulity.” “Come on, now,” Mal shot back, “give the man credit: he’s been in a freezer for over a century. That long away from an audience, man’s gonna get a little rusty. The talent’s there, and you have to admit, he’s got the essence of the character down—” “No argument there,” conceded Campbell. “Give him time, he’ll ease back into it.” He looked up to Shan Yu’s face, which was contorted with anger. “I have faith – you can do this!” There was a forced chuckle from the prisoners, who were watching intently. “He’s got to pull back some,” Campbell countered. “Not give so much up front – you have to make the audience meet you half-way. It’s drama, not melodrama.” “Let’s hear a song!” Jayne called out with a nasty chuckle. “Silence!” Shan Yu bellowed. “See? Over the top,” Campbell said, shaking his head sadly. “What are you talking about?” Mal asked, incredulously, “that was perfect! Let’s hear it again—” “SILENCE!” “That’s what I’m talking about,” Mal said, nodding approvingly. “Let’s give him a round of applause – everyone whose hands aren’t tied up, that is—” At a nod from their master, two guards hit the men in the kidneys with their rifle butts. “You will be silent or I will cut out your tongues!” “Wouldn’t that make interrogation a little . . . difficult?” Campbell asked patronizingly. “You seek to goad me into a quick death. Your antics won’t succeed. You don’t know me very well, gentlemen: I can make you wish for death every second of every hour for weeks. I will give you one last chance to eschew your buffoonery and give . . . me . . . that . . . code!” He had walked around to face them, and his malevolent gaze shifted from one to the other. “That’s much better,” Campbell conceded. “Understatement: it’s golden.” “And they say the theater is dead,” Mal confided. Shan Yu reached back and grabbed a tool at random off of the cart – a serrated bread knife – and started cutting off Mal’s shirt. “Let us see how much you laugh when I peel your flesh from your bones one shred at a time . . .” “I’ll tell you,” a high, wavering voice said from behind him. “What?” he asked, turning around, surprised. “I’ll tell you the code,” River Tam said, standing up, her hands still bound behind her. “Don’t hurt them – I’ll tell.” Her eyes were tearful, and her head was bowed in supplication. “River – no!” Mal mouthed, while Campbell shook his head urgently. Shan Yu’s fierce countenance softened and transformed into a knowing smile. “It appears that at least one among you has some sense.” “She’s insane,” Campbell insisted. “She really is – you shouldn’t believe a word!” Mal agreed, nodding emphatically. “Completely moony – just ask Jayne! Jayne?” “She is!” Jayne agreed fervently. Shan Yu ignored them, instead approaching River slowly, not taking his eyes off of her spare form. “I knew one of you would crack. I should have guessed that it would be the defenseless girl.” Mal and Campbell looked at each other questioningly. “Everyone wants to get into the act,” Mal said, swallowing nervously. *

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GAMMA TEAM REMNANT -23:49

“Your Highness!” Lieutenant Wu said crisply, “We have three platoons armed and equipped and awaiting your orders! Two more should be ready to march within the next twenty minutes.” “Thank you , Lieutenant,” Johnny said serenely. “Losses?” “Eight men did not successfully wake from hibernation, and four more are . . . damaged. I’ve told off a medic for their care. He’s opened up the infirmary, and getting them settled now. There’s still a chance they will recover.” He waited a moment before he broke the news. “Captain Sha-chen was one of the casualties. I will be assuming his duties – by your leave, of course.” “My prayers go out to them,” the pretend Prince nodded. “And I will trust your judgment as to the leadership of the Guard. Have the men ready for my inspection inside ten minutes. By the time I’m done, the other platoons will be ready. And then we march.” “Yes, Your Highness! We live to serve!” Wu beamed. “And, Lieutenant?” “Yes, Your Highness?” “It is unsuitable for my Guard to be led by a Lieutenant. You are hereby promoted to Captain.” “Th-thank you, Sir!” “Don’t thank me – likely you will never live to see your pay increase. But it’s good for morale,” Johnny said with a sigh, as if he made major field promotions on a daily basis. The elevation of Wu took care of several problems, he realized a moment later. As Captain, he would enjoy that much more respect from his men – and the origin of that rank was Johnny, so he would have a vested interest in supporting Johnny’s claims. It also made him appear generous and magnanimous. A little good public relations never hurt. “Now, as to my newly acquired double shadow . . .” Johnny continued, nodding towards the two beefy men who lurked over his shoulders, weapons drawn and ready. “. . . are they really necessary?” “Sir, it is standard procedure for the Guard to provide personal escorts for any member of the Imperial family. It cannot be deviated from. And it is considered a high honor among the men.” He looked perplexed. “Do you not have personal guards, Sir?” “Things have . . . gotten more complicated. I’ll explain later.” “May I ask . . . who is Emperor, now, Your Highness? Or Empress? Who sits on the Amber Phoenix Throne?” “That is also . . . more complicated,” Johnny admitted. “If things do not go well, then nobody will sit on it, and the Empire will vanish utterly. If things do go well . . . it appears that I am the likeliest candidate.” “There has been trouble then, Your Majesty?” “More than I could relate to you in a week, Captain,” Johnny said in his best ‘weary of the world’ voice. “But all is not lost. If we can regain control of this ship, no doubt we can preserve the Empire indefinitely.” He told the lie so convincingly he half-believed it as well. Someday these men would learn the truth, and there would be a reckoning – but hopefully that would wait until after he rescued his friends. Captain Wu returned to his duties, pushing his men to work faster in getting ready to go. Johnny tried to be calm, but considering he was misleading a small army of elite killers into doing his bidding, it was a struggle not to let his nervousness show. He tried to distract himself by speaking to his new bodyguards – Hue and Jackson. “Jackson, it is not often that someone from outside of the Thousand Families is invited to the guard,” he commented. “Your Highness, I married a woman of the Thousand Families. She was a trainer at Camp Shou-zhou on Wuhan. Shan Yu took offense to her and had her executed on the spot.” “I – I’m so sorry to hear that,” Johnny said, taken aback. He had expected to hear a tale about taking on the Sinic elite and defeating them at the trials that traditionally led to the Guard, not a horrific tale of woe. “Your Highness, that was many, many years ago, even by my reckoning. When Emperor Fong Wu asked for volunteers for this special force, he looked for men who had suffered losses comparable to mine. It is sad to say that after Shan Yu’s regime, there was no shortage of volunteers. It has been an honor to serve thus.” “You have a similar story, Hue?” “Both my parents were slain by police in riots on T’ien,” he replied, quietly. “As were two sisters and my brother.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” Johnny said, sympathetically. “Many families were destroyed utterly in the Tyrant’s reign,” Hue continued. “When your . . . ancestor announced he was taking the throne, there was the greatest celebration the ‘verse has ever seen.” “I can only hope to do him justice,” Johnny said firmly. “I hope he wasn’t . . . assassinated,” Jackson said, quietly. “No, you will be glad to know he lived to a ripe old age, had many children, and reigned over an era of prosperity the likes of which the Empire has never known.” “That’s a relief, Your Highness,” Hue said. “He was a great man, a true gentleman. If your reign is even half as wise as his, we will be well-led.” Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into? He asked himself, mentally panicking. This had seemed like such an easy plan, at first. These weren’t toy soldiers, he saw, but real men with real issues and concerns. He felt like a traitor for what he was doing. But it was too late to back out of it now. The men were already assembling in formation, being cursory inspected by their sergeants, weapons loaded and held at present arms. When Captain Wu approached him deferentially a few moments later to tell him they were ready to be inspected, it took every ounce of willpower Johnny had to walk over to the first man in line with anything like confidence on his mind and begin the inspection. He stopped at every third or fourth man, asked questions, inspected their uniforms (long pale gold coats with red trim, the Imperial crest embroidered on back and breast, rank and insignia on the shoulder, and the whole torso region well-armored) checked the load and cleanliness of the rifle – the Guardsmen bore Phoenix Express 8mm automatic rifles, a model he was unfamiliar with – and moved on. Twice he asked for a demonstration of some arcane military point. When he finally got to the end of the line, there were close to a hundred and sixty men who were ready and awaiting orders – and more getting dressed all the time as they emerged from their cryogenic wombs. “I’m pleased, Captain,” he said, saluting. “Our main objective is the Engine Room, and the areas around it. But almost important is the recovery of some prisoners that Shan Yu and his filthy bandits have taken captive. I want them alive and unharmed – make certain every man knows it. I will take a third of the men and head back down the main corridor towards that area. Take command of one of the other thirds, and move down the parallel corridor on the port side. And designate an officer to lead the remainder of the men down two decks, and come up from there.” “Yes, Your Highness,” Wu said, bowing. “What about the White Tigers? What should we do about them?” he asked. “Kill them,” Johnny answered. “Kill them all. No quarter. And if you encounter . . . Shan Yu, bring him to me, alive. My ancestor may not have been able to bring himself to execute him for his crimes because of an oath he took, but my only oath has been to uphold and protect the Empire. If he is captured, I promise you that he will face Imperial justice!” There was a rousing cheer at that, and Johnny felt, for the first time, as if he might be able to carry this off. “Form up, Captain, and let’s move out,” he said, cocking his own machine gun for dramatic effect. “We have some kittens to drown!”

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ALPHA TEAM REMNANT -24:05

“He did what?” General Lei asked, flabbergasted. “He awakened three hundred of the Imperial Guardsmen that Fong Wu had put into suspension as emergency shock-troops,” Heavenly Master Lei explained patiently. “And you authorized this?” “I saw no reason to oppose it. His team is captured, the Engine Room is in enemy hands, and we have,” he looked at the chronometer above the console, “twenty four hours and five minutes to re-take the room, activate it, and prevent this ship which you have grown so fond of from plummeting into the core of the planet.” Master Lei shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” “But . . . but those are Imperial troops, old-style Imperial troops. How is he going to lead them?” After a moment’s consideration, another thought intruded. “What the hell are they doing down there, anyway? Who puts a . . . how many are there?” “A few thousand,” conceded the spectral image of Lei Fong Wu, which had lurked quietly in the background until called for. It took this opportunity to interject. “I had a difficult problem on my hands. There were way too many soldiers in the Imperial Guard – Shan Yu had used them as a glorified police force at the Imperial Palace, since he used the White Tigers as his personal force. There were over five thousand of them, and they were decidedly anti-Shan Yu. That was fine, as far as it went, but many had suffered egregiously at his hands, and wanted to start retributive killings. They were excellent men, but I was trying to heal the rifts in our society, not promote them. “I hit upon this plan based on the discovery of the Kitty Largo,” he explained. The Kitty Largo had been one of the smaller Exodus Ships that had brought Earth-that-Was’ population out into the Black. It had strayed off course on its way to Londinium and had gotten stuck orbiting a small asteroid. Primarily a sleeper ship, with a crew of only a few thousand, over a quarter of a million souls had been awakened expecting to find a raw, desolate and newly terraformed rock to pioneer. Instead they found a two-centuries old thriving, vibrant civilization. Most had settled on Osiris and Isis, including the last cultural communities of the Iroquois, Peti, and Innuit Martians, and were reintegrated into society after one generation. “I decided to enlist as many of them as possible into this scheme, to travel forward in time to support the Empire in the future. The strategy seemed to take care of a number of problems at once.” “Yet you consigned those men to a possibility of eternal sleep,” pointed out Master Lei. The hologram shrugged. “Their lives were mine to use as I saw fit. They were broken men, you must understand, men who had held the highest ideals of the Empire and had seen their families suffer for it. I took only volunteers.” “But were they worth a damn as troops?” “They were elite,” assured the electronic ghost. “They just had the wrong politics during the Tyrant’s reign. Most were combat veterans who had served on Xiao and had been offered the prestige of the Guard for their service.” “Well, at least he didn’t end up with a bunch of apes,” conceded General Lei. “He will be well-served by them, I have no doubt,” Lei Fong Wu agreed. “They were told to follow any member of the Imperial Household who awakened them. As long as he presents himself as such . . .” “We should warn him about that,” the General said, thoughtfully. “It is too late,” Master Lei said, shaking his head. “The die has been cast. Either Chin Yi finds a way to convince them of the righteousness of his cause, or . . .” “I’m sure he thought of something,” the General said with a sigh. “He is a Lei, after all.” The other two old men – the carnate and discarnate alike – nodded their heads in agreement. Lei’s always found a way to come out on top. It was in the blood.