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  “But we can still contact the other two,” Shiyuan mused, “we might even catch them before their presentation…”

  “Presentation?” Dr. Middleton asked pointedly, again using her Qin with more fluency than Lu Bu had previously assumed her capable.

  “They became good friends after Kongming’s arrest,” Shiyuan explained in his native tongue, “and were forced to publicly recant their involvement. They agreed to the State’s terms, and now the State Department makes them hold public seminars on social obedience while also condemning the actions of people like us.”

  “If they work for the government…” Lu Bu said skeptically, “how can we trust them?”

  “I am certain one of them will come with us if given the choice,” Shiyuan said confidently, “but the other…he will require some convincing.”

  “Then we should find them,” Lu Bu said with finality.

  “I will send for them,” Shiyuan said as he produced a data slate and typed in a message.

  “What makes you think they will come?” Dr. Middleton asked in Standard.

  Shiyuan looked up from the slate after finishing the message and sending it via the public data nets, “Because I am only member of team not get caught. I have hidden since Kongming’s arrest, and they will know this important since I not contact them earlier.”

  “Good,” Lu Bu nodded.

  “This is…well, frankly it’s absurd,” the first man—whose style-slash-code name was Fengxiao—said incredulously as he wiped his pallid forehead with an already-moist cloth. He was thin, pale, mid-thirties and weak-looking but his eyes held the same razor-sharp focus as Shiyuan’s. “What proof do we have that this isn’t some kind of government operation—or worse, a weak attempt at a citizen’s arrest to curry favor with the State Department?”

  “There is that,” Yuanzhi, the other man agreed. He was neither thin nor fat, and wore a pencil-thin mustache above a set of thin, tight lips. He looked to be in his mid or late twenties, and wore his hair in a long topknot. “We have risked much simply by attending this meeting; our handlers will not permit us to be late for today’s seminar.”

  Lu Bu had been prepared for this eventuality, so she produced her data slate and opened a file before displaying it to them. Their eyes went wide as they saw Fei Long’s message play from the part where he identified the people who might help Lu Bu and the MSP—among those people, naturally, were the three men present.

  “This is Dr. Middleton,” Lu Bu explained, pausing the recording before the message’s more private portions were made public, “she is an off-worlder, just like Traian,” she gestured to her fellow Lancer, “who has served in the MSP for longer than I have. This is no setup; this is real and we need your help.”

  “The ComStat network…” Fengxiao mused thoughtfully, apparently convinced of her request’s authenticity. “That is impressive.”

  “We all played a distant part in that,” Shiyuan said passionately, “and now we have a chance to take a more direct role—and to escape the suffocating confines of this world, which places less value on each of us than it does on a street-sweeper.”

  “I have known many wise street sweepers,” Yuanzhi said pointedly. “We, of all people, should know not to judge a man’s worth solely on his profession.”

  “You know what I mean,” the potato-faced Shiyuan grumbled.

  “We do—“ Fengxiao nodded before he was seized with a violent fit of coughing. The fit continued for several seconds, prompting Dr. Middleton to make her way toward him but he waved her off as he finally gained control over himself. After recovering, he removed a blood-tinged hand from his lips and said to Lu Bu, “I think it should be obvious—for purely selfish reasons if nothing else—that I am in favor of taking the risk you present, Fengxian.”

  “How long have you been sick?” Lu Bu demanded, her anger rising at the possibility of another ‘soft kill’ being enacted against a second of Kongming’s friends—or, if not ‘friends,’ then at least his allies.

  “Two months,” Fengxiao replied.

  “The similarities between Fengxiao’s illness and Gongjin’s are hard to ignore,” Yuanzhi said hesitantly, “but still…it’s a big risk. And I never did believe in all that fate crap Kongming went on and on about. We aren’t the reincarnations of long-dead people from legend; we’re just us.”

  “How can you say that?!” Shiyuan blurted. “I might have expected to hear that from Fengxiao—who never really bought into any of our revolutionary ideals to begin with—but how can you say that after what happened to Gongjin?”

  “It was simple coincidence—“ Yuanzhi began, but Shiyuan leapt to his feet—which still barely brought his head any higher than those of the meeting’s seated attendees.

  “Gongjin died spitting up blood and cursing Kongming with his last breath—just like what happened in the book,” Shiyuan yelled. “How much clearer does it have to get for you?!”

  Lu Bu found herself slightly alarmed—and more than mildly intrigued—at the sudden turn in the conversation. Fei Long had indeed believed himself to be the spiritual inheritor of the Great Ancestor Zhuge Liang. But Lu Bu had never known him to have suggested that he was the literal reincarnation of the man—nor had he ever suggested that he had effectively imposed this belief system onto others.

  But here, sitting with these three men, it appeared that was essentially what he had done at some point in the past. She began to realize just how much more depth there had been to the father of her unborn children, and she briefly regretted not attempting to learn more of him while she’d had the opportunity to do so.

  “Look,” Fengxiao said, leaning forward while Yuanzhi scowled and sank back into his seat, “the mysticism angle never did intrigue me, and I was never really part of your little group to begin with. What does intrigue me is Kongming’s leadership, vision, and ability to predict what would happen after he was gone. Based solely on that,” he said, casting a sideways glance at his colleague, “I’m in—to say nothing of my hope to find a cure for this disease after we gain our freedom. When do we leave?”

  Lu Bu felt a thrill of excitement. Kongming’s message had seemingly implied that gaining the services of just one of the people on his list would provide an immense information edge—an edge which had become Lieutenant McKnight’s primary focus in recent weeks and months. Now it seemed she had secured the services of two of these men, with a third seemingly straddling the fence!

  “That depends on Yuanzhi,” Lu Bu said, seizing the initiative and putting as much pressure as she could on the third member of Kongming’s formerly disbanded cadre.

  “I don’t know…” Yuanzhi said doubtfully, “my mom’s not doing so well these days—“

  “Ha!” Shiyuan barked triumphantly. “Kongming was right about you—you are Xu Shu’s inheritor!”

  Fengxiao snickered at this and Lu Bu did likewise, prompting Yuanzhi to slice angry looks at his colleagues. In Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Xu Shu had been manipulated into abandoning his warlord due to being overly concerned for his mother’s well-being—and when his mother had learned of his choice, she had berated him for missing an opportunity to contribute in a meaningful way to the world by running to her side like a worried toddler. She had apparently committed suicide shortly afterward in unmitigated despair, forming one of the most poignant stories in the entire book which resonated throughout her culture even today.

  “Get stuffed, bird boy,” Yuanzhi snapped, prompting both Lu Bu and Fengxiao to snicker at Yuanzhi’s reference to the Great Ancestor who shared Shiyuan’s style name. In the book Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Pang Tong—whose style name had also been Shiyuan, and who had apparently also been rather unpleasant-looking—was known as the Fledgling Phoenix.

  “Your mother has been trying to get you out of the house for years, Yuanzhi,” Fengxiao chided. “She has even gone so far as to say, in my presence, that it would be better if you never came home again.”

  “Sounds like a charming wo
man,” Dr. Middleton muttered in Standard, prompting Lu Bu to nod in agreement with her adoptive mother’s disdain for such a person. One lesson Lu Bu was learning during her time in the stars was that family—not country—was important, and any woman who did not value her children and wish to interact with them was one for whom Lu Bu would have little compassion.

  Yuanzhi looked ready to argue, but surprisingly his shoulders slumped in defeat and his eyes lowered to the table. “When do we leave?” he grumbled.

  “We’re all set to go,” Hutch said at the base of the Mode’s boarding ramp. Dr. Middleton and Traian made their way inside, and Lu Bu turned to see Shiyuan, Yuanzhi, and Fengxiao giving the Cutter varying looks of repugnance and disapproval.

  “What a piece of junk!” Yuanzhi blurted incredulously.

  Lu Bu scowled, “I would think that you, of all people, should know never to judge something by its appearance.”

  “No, you’re thinking about Shiyuan,” Yuanzhi retorted easily, prompting Fengxiao to chuckle as he made his way up the ramp. “He’s got a face not even a mother could love.”

  “I think that was her point,” Shiyuan sighed as he moved past Hutch—who stood close to two feet higher than the hideous-looking computer specialist. “You know,” he said, turning at the top of the ramp, “the bit about your mother—“

  “Thanks; I got it,” Yuanzhi said bitterly, and Lu Bu kept quiet as he moved up the ramp. The truth was she hadn’t thought of anything better to say, but Shiyuan had seemingly made her look cleverer than she was. Yuanzhi looked hesitantly over his shoulder at the boarding tube which had brought them to the Mode’s slip at the spaceport.

  “You can go back,” Lu Bu said, knowing that it must be difficult for someone who had actually known a decent life on the world of her birth to leave it behind so suddenly. “But once we leave, you will likely become a criminal and a fugitive.”

  “I know,” he said before sighing, “but the others are right: there’s nothing for any of us here.”

  “I agree,” Lu Bu heard herself say, and no one was more surprised than she was to hear those words pass her lips.

  “Let’s go, then,” Yuanzhi muttered as he made his way for the boarding ramp.

  After he was up, Lu Bu nodded for Hutch to re-enter the craft and begin the lift-off sequence.

  Before she could make her way back to the ramp, however, she heard a woman’s voice over her shoulder, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  She turned and saw a spaceport worker approach with a data slate in hand, and Lu Bu cocked her head in confusion. She had already paid their docking fees and filed all of the necessary paperwork—except for the emigration papers for her new batch of specialists, of course, since they were leaving illegally.

  “What is it?” she asked as the woman approached and proffered the slate.

  “I have an urgent communication for you,” the woman explained, and Lu Bu looked down at the slate to see a high-level government symbol on the screen. It belonged to a man whose family name was ‘Kong,’ and she thought she remembered Captain Middleton mentioning a man with that name. He had apparently been part of the original ‘negotiations’ which had seen the Pride’s crew replenished with criminals, so Lu Bu reluctantly accepted the incoming call.

  “Thank you for receiving my call,” the man on the other end of the line said, “My name is Kong Rong, and I have been monitoring your activities since returning to our world several days ago.”

  “We have not done anything illegal—“ she began, but he cut in.

  “You are about to do something very illegal,” he cut in smoothly, “but I am not interested in stopping you from departing this system in safety. However, I must warn you,” he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially, “that my influence in our world’s government is waning considerably. Soon I will be unable to provide you with any legal protection should you return, and the punishment for aiding and abetting fleeing fugitives is rather severe.”

  “Aren’t you taking a risk by talking with me?” Lu Bu said with narrowed eyes.

  “I am, but not as large of a risk as you might expect,” he replied dismissively. “The woman who brought you this link will destroy it shortly after we conclude our conversation, and I trust her implicitly. I merely wished to impress upon you the fact that, should you return, you will be prosecuted under the fullest extent of the law. I have done everything I can to have your citizenship revoked—“

  “What?!” she said furiously. Who was this man, to so callously expatriate her without her consent—and very much against her will!?

  “Stop and listen; we have very little time,” Kong Rong said tersely, and Lu Bu felt certain if the man was standing before her she would strangle him. “If you can be fully expatriated before I lose what little influence remains to me, our world will have no authority to extradite you for the crimes you are about to commit. You will be a free citizen, and can travel as you please.”

  “Everywhere except here,” Lu Bu said hotly.

  “There is a price for everything, Corporal,” he said calmly, “and this will be your price. Do not misunderstand: the fact that I helped your captain has played no small part in my own present political dilemma—and my facilitating your egress from our world was made possible only because I made several sacrifices to ensure I could do so.”

  Lu Bu reeled back as she realized what he was saying. If he was speaking truthfully, then he had essentially granted her the freedom to join the Pride of Prometheus’ crew. She knew she owed some small part of everything she had achieved since her emancipation from the world of her birth to him, and grudgingly nodded, “If that is true…then you have my thanks.”

  He nodded, “I appreciate that. I understand your mission was dangerous, but I have ever believed in our world contributing as much as possible to the common good of the Spineward Sectors. It is for that reason that I approved the clandestine transfer of Fei Long to your ship, and it is for that particular act that I now face the bulk of my own issues. Suffice to say,” he added darkly, “the powers that be on our world do not approve of your organization’s leadership, or even of its very existence. Should any of your people return here under the current political climate, they will be met with hostility rather than with friendship of the kind I have attempted to foster.”

  Lu Bu nodded slowly, realizing another option existed, “You could come with us.”

  Kong Rong chuckled, “I do not believe that would be permitted. Besides, I am not without some support among our world’s leadership. I will continue to serve as I have done for as long as I may do so, and then I will retire knowing I did my utmost to provide for our people.” He locked eyes with her and finished, “I only ask that you, and those who now accompany you, do likewise.”

  “We will,” she nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Go and make us proud, Fengxian,” he said before severing the link. Lu Bu handed the device back to the spaceport docent, who wordlessly accepted it and began breaking it down into its constituent pieces as she walked back down the tube via which she had come. A few seconds later she disappeared, and Lu Bu decided it was time to leave—possibly forever.

  She actually took a nostalgic look out the window of the spaceport, where giant bluffs of stone jutted defiantly into the sky several kilometers away. The perpetual steam clouds which encircled the sheer rock-face’s upper regions were an iconic image that she wanted to be pressed into her mind. In a way, she wanted to tell her children about the world from which they had come—if for no other reason than to remind them of how far they had come by leaving it behind.

  When she was satisfied she could reproduce the bluffs from memory, Lu Bu climbed—or waddled, such as her pregnant physique permitted—up the ramp and settled in for the long trip back to the Capital System.

  Chapter V: A Bold Proposal

  “Final point transfer in sixty seconds, ma’am,” Helmsman Marcos reported.

  “Thank you, Helm,” McKnight said as she nervously reviewed the
contents of her official report on the Pride’s mission. She knew that Admiral Montagne would be angry with Captain Middleton—and probably with every surviving member of his crew—for going rogue to deal with the Raubach’s Alpha Site at Cagnzyz.

  But it had been several days since the Slice of Life and the Perilous Halibut had made their way within MSP-patrolled territory, and McKnight found she was most struck by the apparent accuracy of Lynch’s intelligence. After finally deciding to incorporate the data into their planned course, they had not encountered a single patrolling ship—and their new course had taken them through areas which should have been at least reasonably well-patrolled.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Lynch’s information edge had indeed proved essential to getting her crew, their new ship, and the bulk freighter back to HQ in one piece. And it was that same information edge which she now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was what the MSP needed more than anything if it was to serve in the capacity which Admiral Montagne seemed to wish of it.

  Obviously, nothing could equal what additional warships brought to the table when it came to stabilizing the Spineward Sectors following the Imperial withdrawal, but McKnight was just one junior officer. She couldn’t procure additional warships for Admiral Montagne’s MSP…but she could, with the proper support, build up an intelligence network which might prove crucial in the months and years to come.

  “Point transfer in ten seconds,” Marcos intoned, snapping McKnight from her reverie as she unconsciously gripped the arms of the command chair. “Three…two…one…transfer,” Marcos reported, and McKnight felt the now-familiar sensation of space, time, and everything in between warp around the Slice of Life for an instant before the ship shuddered under the weight of its inertial sump