No Graves for Heroes Page 6

  The view screen at the front of the frigate’s bridge lit up with the face of Manual Rota, the special assistant to the president of China Bank, Mars. Rota had a bony face with thick eyebrows and almond skin. He was in his early seventies and like most corporate executives, had a reputation for ruthlessness and in extreme cases, violence. Behind him was a large marble fountain and several young women lounging on a couch. Rota was dressed in an ornate silk robe. With the snap of his fingers, the girls got up and walked off screen.

  “Captain McKenzie,” the old man said, smiling with perfect white teeth. “I am glad to see you are still with us after that unfortunate accident.”

  “Still on the right side of the dirt.”

  Rota smiled and nodded. “I assume you are above me, somewhere.”

  “Affirmative, I have the necessary transport. You can send the team up immediately.”

  “Good. Good. I will send the boys up right away. Expect them in one hour.”

  “Are your people still tracking the targets?”

  “Oh, yes. Everyone is their usual punctual selves.” Rota licked his thin lips.

  “Excellent.”

  “You know, Captain, they will build a monument to you on Ganymede for your role in this great change.”

  “I don’t want a statue.”

  There was a long pause before Rota spoke. “I’ve seen that look in men’s eyes before.” He pointed at McKenzie with a gnarled finger.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No. You’re not. You’re a military man, but you would do well to remind yourself that the old leaders have become complacent. China has a long history of violent revolution. Now it is our time.”

  McKenzie wanted to tell the old man he knew all of that. The words of his father echoed in his head, “An idle mind is the devil’s playground.” He had seen enough to realize that an idle nation is the beginning of the end. He smiled, steadfast in his course of revolution. History was replete with juggernauts weakened by victory—Rome, Britannia, the United States. China, however, would not suffer the same fate as the complacent empires. It was about to be reborn into an age of galactic discovery.

  “And with all the black magic being pumped into their veins,” said Rota, “there is no telling when the Empire will get some new blood—a generation, two generations? And with all the wealth the imperial family has amassed, they will never step aside and let someone else rule. We are the most powerful country in human history, and we waste time and money building bigger fleets to protect commercial interests.

  “The other nations are not so stupid. Instead of pissing money away on war and cargo ships, they’re spending their wealth on scientific research. But all the other superpowers combined don’t have China’s wealth. Without the backing of the Chinese Empire, it’ll take decades to advance space travel to faster than light speed.”

  McKenzie’s head was swimming now with the possibilities. He’d joined the coup with the promise that he would lead the Chinese navy out of the Solar System. He wanted that more than anything. History would know his name, next to Columbus, Gagarin and Armstrong, Madnoliet and Augustine. “What breakthroughs have you heard about?”

  “There are rumors of super dark matter drives, capable of propelling space craft beyond the solar system. There’s a silent race going on right now, a race for all the stars. If we stand complacent, this will be the only solar system China ever colonizes. Think of the wealth and power of an intergalactic empire. How long should we have to wait for that?”

  McKenzie swelled with pride. The change was coming and he would play a part. Any doubt he had about killing his mentor evaporated. She was part of the problem. Killing her was the beginning of the solution.

  “We’re not going to wait any longer,” McKenzie said.

  Rota smiled and nodded.

  The call ended.

  With the short time he had alone, he double-checked the ship’s weapon systems. Everything was still green. Then he inspected the infantry weapons crates the drones loaded. There were twenty submachine guns, as many pistols, and several thousand rounds of caseless ammunition. There were also enough stun and smoke grenades for a platoon. And combat-stims, enough to keep a hundred men up for days. The Boys, as Rota called them, would be smuggling their own toys, the sorts of things that were not part of the Yang Liwei’s armory complement.

  Lastly, he went to the captain’s quarters. As the lights flickered on, so did the wall monitors. This was his private space, where he’d programmed images of his American childhood—simulated jerseys from his favorite teams growing up, the Cleveland Yankees, the Dallas Lakers, and the New York Cowboys. There were pictures of him and his father, mother, and three sisters. All of whom, save for his father, were dead. He knew the old man would be proud of him.

  McKenzie sat in a small chair and stared at his family, letting his eyes droop and taking deep breaths to calm himself. In a few moments, he’d be in charge of a crew of stone-cold operators, juiced up on Hijack drugs and ready to tear faces off of babies if so ordered. The solar system was about to change radically—for the good, he reminded himself—but this was the last time he’d have a moment’s peace for weeks, months, or maybe even years. That is, unless he managed to get himself and everyone else killed.

  An hour later, he awoke with an inspiration. It was bad luck to have a ship with no name. He called up the frigate’s registry and deleted the alphanumeric code representing the ship’s current name. He then replaced it with Zhong Kui, the Chinese deity known as the slayer of ghosts and evil beings.

  Axel fought to contain his reaction to seeing Devon Drake for the first time. Cougar stood silent next to him, probably hoping he would embarrass himself. She looked like a movie star, standing motionless in the middle of the mission prep area. She wore cargo pants, a lose-fitting T-shirt, and a high-collar jacket. He couldn’t help but think that she was one of those classy mannequins he saw in the stores in Hong Kong. The things looked so lifelike, people occasionally mistook them for store employees.

  “You weren’t kidding,” said Axel in a low voice, before snapping back to his senses. “Wait, why is she here?”

  “She’s part of the mission kit,” said Cougar. “You two will have plenty of time to get to know one another on the ride over to the Obama Spaceport. We’ve got to make this fast and get you two out of here. Clock’s ticking.”

  Before them on a large table lay sets of expensive-looking clothing, several weapons, and communications equipment.

  “Bevel over there will take you through it all,” said Cougar.

  Axel looked up to see a black woman with a glowing blue disk on the side of her shaved head. She looked young, maybe in her thirties, until Axel noticed deep wrinkles on her bare elbows and hints of crow’s feet around her eyes. She wore a tank top and jeans, with no attempt at concealing her generous curves. She had a small stitcher in her hand. A measuring tape hung from her neck.

  “Bevel,” said Cougar. “This is Mr. Nash.”

  “Hi,” said Bevel with a huge smile. She walked around the table with an outstretched hand. Axel shook it.

  “I’ve got her all set,” said Bevel, pointing to Devon.

  Devon finally turned to look at Axel and Cougar.

  “Great,” said Cougar. “I’ll leave y’all to it. I’ve got to go settle some political hash.” He shuffled out of the room.

  Axel turned to study the blue disk above her right ear.

  “What?” Bevel pointed to the disk. “Don’t mind this. I’m old-school with my implants. Can’t get anything good in the States anymore. I build my own.” She smiled. “You want me to build you one?”

  Axel forced a smile. “I…don’t think Cougar wants me going out with a glowing disk on my head.”

  Bevel let out a huge laugh. “I guess not. Maybe when you get back. If you get back.”

  “Huh?” said Axel.

  “I’m kidding, baby. We’re gonna get you back in one piece. Swear to the Almighty. Well, come on. Get a look
at everything. We need you to try everything on. You gotta look sharp, baby.” She went over to the clothing first, pointing to suits, casual wear, and shoes. “This is all the latest designer garb they’re wearing in Pangaea. Tommy Fong, King Breeze Culture, Mikos—I love these shoes—and Jaw Tech casual. Everything will have pockets for your coms gear, issue pistol, and emergency med kit. I’ve added tourniquets to the artery areas and even drag handles in the collars in case she needs to pull you to safety.”

  Axel grimaced at the notion that some squib was going to pull him to safety. But he let the comment slide.

  She held up a black dinner jacket with a silk collar and turned it inside out. “This has dragon skin mesh sewn into the lining. It won’t stop a bullet, but it will stop a knife. So, don’t get too brave with it.” She showed him the lining in several other garments.

  “Now, do I need to tell you when you wear each of these?” She pointed to the different sets of clothes.

  “Suit for the water park, jogging suit for the evening parties,” said Axel in a serious voice.

  Bevel’s face went blank. “I know you’re fucking with me. You better be fucking with me. You wear that custom Italian silk suit in the swimming pool and I’ll fly up there and kill you myself.”

  “Yes, I’m kidding.”

  Bevel gave him a half grin and continued. “Let’s try all this on. Go on, strip. I’ve seen it all and she’s fake. She doesn’t care.” She motioned to Devon.

  Axel removed his shirt first, revealing a swatch of yellowed skin from the center of his chest, curving around the right side of his body and ending on his back. It looked like a rough application of putty. There were similar patches on his right arm and shoulder.

  Bevel looked at him quizzically as she gently poked at the yellowed flesh. “You forget to wash there for a few weeks?”

  “Old war wounds,” said Axel dismissively.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not unless you pick at it.”

  Bevel scowled before shaking her head and selecting a pair of pinstripe slacks. For the next hour she tugged, swatted, and ruffled every garment as Axel tried them on. She sliced and resewed seams that were too loose or too tight, until everything fit as if it was custom tailored.

  “Okay, all set,” said Bevel with a huge sigh. “I’ll get these crated up and ready to go.” With that she swept up the clothes and walked out of the room, leaving Axel alone with Devon. She turned and smiled at him.

  Axel took in a deep breath and told himself that he was going to have to get this over with sooner or later. “Please tell me they gave you a personality.”

  This was a fair question in Axel’s mind. The two of them were effectively going into deep cover in hostile territory, where being discovered could mean he was tortured to death or sent to some orbiting prison to rot for the rest of his life. He had no intention of enduring either.

  Devon’s eyebrows knitted. “I’ve been loaded with the profile of a woman in her mid-thirties from Montreal. My mother’s name is Martha. My favorite—”

  Axel cut her off. He didn’t need to know all of that right now. “And how did we meet?”

  “Two years ago at a hockey game. Your company had box seats and I was there with my girlfriend.”

  “How long have we been married?”

  “Eight months.”

  That all lined up. The little details sold the cover story. Satisfied that she might not get him killed with conversation, Axel asked, “What modifications did they put in you?”

  “I have an onboard UTech quantum processor array with German-made sensory antenna,” she lifted her arm and ran a finger down the underside of her forearm, “in here.”

  “Walking supercomputer, eh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Where’d they dig you up?”

  “I was a New York street reenactor. Your friend, Mr. Monroe, pulled me from a recycling center before I was melted down.”

  “All right. We’ll work on our cover story more on the trip. Cougar tells me we head out for Africa in the morning. I’m going home for the night. Are you going to…” He suddenly thought it rude to ask if she was just going to stand there all night. He wondered if she would sleep with him before they left. They were supposed to be romantically involved. That would be right for the sake of the mission. Wouldn’t it? But his place was embarrassingly small and, at the moment, dirty.

  She’s a squib, dumbass. She doesn’t care if you live in a dumpster. You haven’t been laid in months. What’s the harm?

  “I’ll be fine here,” Devon said. She grinned. “We’ll have plenty of time together, starting tomorrow. You should go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  Axel opened his mouth to contradict her. He could just tell her, Come on, let’s go back to my place to fuck. But his senses came back to him. He was a gentleman after all, squib or no squib. “You’re right. See you in the morning.”

  She turned away from him and her eyes took on a ghostly stare out into space. Axel winced at how it seemed like she just died on her feet right in front of him.

  “Good night,” he said with the awkwardness of a teenager talking to a girl he fancied.

  Cougar called in a few favors and arranged for a subsonic cargo jet to shuttle Axel, Devon, and their luggage across the Atlantic to the East African Union capital of Dakar. They bypassed customs with the help of several bribes.

  From Dakar, they boarded a transcontinental maglev train for Nairobi. Axel would have preferred flying to the other side of the continent, but Cougar had insisted that rail travel was safer, since security was much lighter than air travel. Their fake documents were passable but, if held under a microscope, would fall apart and it would be game over. At least on the train, they had a private sleeper car. The trip would take almost twenty hours.

  Axel couldn’t help but be impressed with Devon’s ability to retain information. He constantly reminded himself that she was not a real person, in spite of her nuanced personality. She played absently with her long blonde hair. She politely held in a belch after drinking a soda. Her skin broke out in goose bumps when the air conditioner kicked on in their cabin. If she could fool him, she’d fool anyone.

  The ride took them through massive cities, teaming with neo-colonial architecture, skyscrapers reminiscent of the eighteenth-century imperial structures, with towering columns, domes, and ornate scrollwork. It seemed the locals were still connected to the past somehow, choosing to romanticize a history that was the near-death of the continent and its people. Hovering billboards flew above the cities, featured ads for new literary works, universities, luxury brands, and social services. The train passed the East African solar power plants, vertical farms, and sprawling residential areas framed with parks and lush flora.

  After a bout of silence where the two of them stared out the cabin windows, Devon looked at Axel.

  “How did you get that yellow skin on your chest?”

  In his head, Axel could hear the Japanese nurses shouting for the doctor to come look at him, followed by the chemical stench of the dermal gel. “It’s for severe burns. I was burned badly in a battle.”

  Devon’s eyes went wide and she sat up in her chair. “Which battle?”

  “Luna. It was the last American battle of the Solar War.”

  Axel saw the faces of his fellow marines as soon as he mentioned the war; Jessup with his crooked teeth, Rider and his big ears, Ramirez sporting that stupid mustache, Olson constantly on the phone to his girlfriend, and Burzynski with his never-ending pranks.

  No, he thought. Stop it. Not going to think about them. Slate’s locked away in the cargo hold.

  “What’s the matter?” Devon asked. She looked concerned, almost vulnerable.

  Axel forced a smile. “Not…not very fun thinking about those days. I don’t exactly dwell on that battle.”

  Axel hoped that would be the last of the questions, but Devon spoke up. “Did you lose friends?”

  A knot formed in the back o
f Axel’s throat. He shut his eyes and willed it away. He wasn’t talking about this. He wasn’t going to say a word about it. She wasn’t real. She didn’t really care. Did she? Instead of answering, Axel looked out the window. The sun was going down, but he could still make out herds of elephants lumbering across grassland, below the train’s raised track.

  “I’m sorry,” said Devon in a soft voice. “I won’t ask you any more about it. I was just curious. They didn’t give me specifics about the war, just a bunch of dates and locations.”

  “It’s all right. I just don’t want to talk about it. Maybe another time.”

  “Okay, I’ll leave you alone…for now.”

  Axel believed her. Most people, when they found out you were in the war, poked and prodded at you. They wanted to know how many people you killed, or what it was like to see a battle cruiser burning with plasma fire, falling out of orbit. But no one ever asked the pointed questions, thank God. Like, what’s it like to go through basic with a guy, get to know his family’s names, what kind of beer he drinks, fight next to him, and then see his life end in a microsecond as a railgun round slices right through him. That shit was nightmare fuel.

  “I have another question for you,” said Devon. “Not about the war.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are you doing this, risking your life for your friend Cougar?”

  “Not doing it for him.”

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  “Doing it for our country. Well, my country. I don’t know, do you consider yourself an American?”