Part 34: An Unfinished Office in Shanghai, China

Chinese trawler Eccentric Ampersand
G-hour plus 17:51:48
April 30th, 2016

It was good to have Sauer back.

She wasn't officially cleared to return to duty yet. The Butcher's bullets had only bruised her and not cracked her young bones, but even now she moved with an atypical stiffness, and Richardson didn't miss the sharp little breaths which hissed between Sauer's teeth whenever she aggravated one of her injuries. Of course Uncle Roland knew that she hated to be separated from her sisters, even for one day, but the reasons he put on paper had to be more practical: Sauer was put on the resupply flight into Hangzhou because there were machine guns in need of expert attention.

That was why Sauer sat on the floor of the trawler's kitchen – known in forime seafaring terms as a 'galley' – hunched over the guts of her newest project in the dim red glow of the night running lights. The Pulemyot Maksima, model of 1910, was unlike her usual working weapons: it was too heavy to carry forwards in dynamic combat, but with its heavy two-wheeled mount and upright bullet shield it was suitable for entrenched defense. Its most distinctive feature was conveyed by the nickname Carcano had bestowed in the girls' native language: Arem'palak, water-holder.

The North Koreans had placed four of the Maxims aboard the ship, but never used them in the skirmishes with Eto Delo. Now they were being put to work by their new owners, taking advantage of the ready supply of compatible ammunition and the guns' ability to operate continuously for far longer than their air-cooled brethren. Three had turned out all right, but the fourth required more affection than its old masters had shown it... and so Sauer had labored for the last hour with her wrench and pliers and gauges, trying to get it tuned just right because she knew she might not have another chance.

Richardson turned away and went to the row of battery chargers which were fixed to the galley counter with duct tape, checking the status lights on each one. She was worried about Sauer, definitely worried, but there were others as well. She worried about Azanael, who languished in the hands of the Kimists, and about Krag, who would be devastated if that Arume joined the Koreans' slaughtered victims. She also worried about Keiko, who had taken the enemy's tactics as a personal affront and been working like a maniac to repair the captured Mi-35 almost since the minute she'd finished ferrying it back to the temporary base in Hangzhou.

The batteries had a stubby cylindrical shape, the latest electro-chemical technology in a legacy form factor. They were used to power the night sights which were general issue for this mission: bulky Russian relics, like the Maxim guns. Richardson herself had exchanged her daylight sight and grenade launcher for one, along with a sound suppressor of Finnish manufacture. Her comrades had taken this trawler by overwhelming speed and force, but a different stratagem, one of stealth and patience, was needed to surmount the next obstacle.

Taking her share of the power cells, the gosta went to join her partner. She found Harrington curled up in a corner of the bridge, sleeping on a makeshift bedroll. The blood and broken glass had been carefully cleared away, the windows covered with black cloth screens in accordance with the need for absolute light and noise discipline. Webley stood at the wheel, steering as Uncle Roland directed her via radio, while Vickers and Korth monitored the instruments. Richardson and Harrington had already taken a turn watching the dials and displays, and were now allocated to a different posting.

They still had a few minutes before their next shift started, however, and Richardson intended to make the most of that time. She knelt beside her partner, stroking the sleeping girl's cheek with reverent softness. Harrington stirred, reaching out unconsciously until her hands found Richardson and pulled her down, a leg draping over the other's thigh and securing the embrace. The awake one reciprocated, snuggling up and closing her eyes.

"Helm, reduce speed to five knots and turn twenty degrees to port on my mark."

"Copy."

"Stand by... Mark."

Richardson's eyelashes fluttered. Time to go already?

Schuhart's next broadcast confirmed it. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have left the canal and entered the Huangpu River. Please remain seated, as we expect minor turbulence."

"Mmmmf." Harrington stirred. "...We there?"

"Mm-hm." Richardson leaned in for a kiss and was rewarded with a brief duel of tongues. Harrington had been taking her displays of affection to new heights of late – not that her lover minded in the slightest.

"Helm, turn fifty degrees to starboard. Mark."

"Roger."

Harrington sat up, rubbing her eyes for a few moments, and then picked up her gear. Accepting the proffered hand, she let Richardson help her onto her feet. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah..."

The pair made their way to the open deck indirectly, leaving the bridge via the inside ladder and a detour through the bottom level of the superstructure. It was very dark outside, even for eyes already adjusted to the lack of light: the heavy clouds persisted, and electrical power to virtually the entire metropolis had been cut after the Korean invasion. Richardson waited for Harrington to close the final door behind herself, then popped the protective filter off the end of the 1PN51, powered it on, and took a luridly green look at the riverbank a few dozen meters off the trawler's port side.

The Huangpu ran through the heart of Shanghai and emptied into the Yangzi on the city's north side, right in the middle of North Korean territory. Upstream of the city center there was a sharp bend where two straight canals, one running east and one south, connected the river to a network of smaller channels – and to Hangzhou Bay. One only needed to look at a map of the area to see the strategic value of the waterways, value which the enemy was unwilling or unable to fully capitalize on.

Satisfied that all was calm and that the sight was operating correctly, Richardson switched it off, reached up to the Thales light-amplifying monocular attached to the front of her helmet, and rotated it to cover her left eye. There was a distinctive click-clack when her other hand moved to her rifle's selector lever and pressed it down, passing over AV and settling on OD. "Let's meet with Uncle Roland," the gosta whispered.

Harrington nodded in agreement and the duo began to make their way forwards, their outlines all but invisible in the depths of the blackout. They met Krag and Borchardt pulling lookout duty on the midship deck, exchanging silent gestures of mutual recognition as they passed. Ascending to the foredeck, the girls next encountered Krieghoff curled up beside a motorized capstan, ready to crew the forward anti-aircraft gun if the mission went hot ahead of schedule.

Rubin and Schuhart were sitting up at the prow, one holding an RPG launcher with its own night sight, the other peering intently at the river ahead through a monocular like Richardson's. "Uncle Roland," the smaller sentinel murmured, "Harrington and Richardson are here."

"Hey girls." The man spoke without breaking his vigil. "Everything okay? Any equipment problems?"

The forime in the group were of the opinion that 5.45mm subsonic ammunition was inadequate for their battle plan, and most of the AK-74s had been swapped out for AKMs before the trawler sailed from Hangzhou. It wasn't a difficult switch for the gosta, who ran up the majority of their training hours on both of those platforms, but Richardson nevertheless appreciated the show of concern. "No problems," she said. "Should we stay here?"

"Yeah." The arms dealer waved to the left, then to the right. "Watch the flanks, we're getting to the fun part... Helm, correct course ten degrees to port."

"Where did Schuhart get the name for this boat, anyway?"

"He chose it in honor of his old nemesis, the Eccentric Ampersand of Khartoum." Karan shrugged. "It's a running joke at the office."

A joke which Mari evidently hadn't heard yet – not surprising, since she rarely went to the administrative part of the organization's Hong Kong headquarters without a good reason. The other team leaders clearly knew it, though. There were four of them all told, each in command of a ten-man section: Phil Darwin for A Team, Karan for B Team, Vsevolod Lebedev – 'Seva' or 'Freebooter' to his friends – for V Team, and Mari herself for G Team. Schuhart and the sixteen gosta made up D Team.

"All hands, all hands, stand by for possible contact."

Mari perked up at the warning. Any action was welcome after being stuck in the lower decks for so long, surrounded by the odor of the trawler's former cargoes.

"We've got three flatbed motor barges rafted in the middle of the river," Schuhart muttered, peering through one side of a large pair of binoculars. "Looks like the KPA are using them to make a choke point. I see light guns on deck and sentries with RPGs and MANPADS. No hostages in the open... Helm, cut the engines and stand by on the stern anchor. Assault teams, silent muster for deployment by rubber ducky." He lowered the binoculars. "Richardson, go get the SVD."

Sino-Arumic Liaison Headquarters
Guangzhou, China
G-hour plus 25:11:20

"Renaril, wake up."

"Hnnnnn..?" Renaril blinked, lifting her head reluctantly. "Oh, Li..." The Arume sat up, making room for her partner to sit down on the break room's khaki couch. "What's happening?"

"We have news from Shanghai." Kang handed her a color printout. "Schuhart is still using Yanami Shouta to relay information."

The article's headline was vivid enough: SHANGHAI COMMANDO RAID SEIZES ILLEGAL MILITARY LASER, it read. There was a photograph nestled beside the column of smaller text under the header, showing a rectangular gray object mounted on a tripod, with a thick cable plugged into a box on the ground below it. The Norinco ZM-87-2 is a neodymium pulse laser, ran the caption under the image. Aimed using a telescopic sight, it can destroy camera sensors and blind humans at distances up to ten kilometers. Military use of permanently blinding lasers was banned by international law in 1995.

The rest of the article was frustratingly vague. It said that an Eto Delo strike team had destroyed a North Korean outpost, but didn't say where. It said that they had killed a large number of the enemy and rescued Chinese hostages while suffering only minor casualties of their own, but gave no specific numbers. It said the fight would go on, but not for how long or towards what objective. "Is this all?" the Arume asked after she reached the bottom.

"Yes." The colonel held out a metal mess can full of something that was warm and sour-smelling. "Take this."

Renaril opened the lid. "Noodles?"

"Pork noodles with vinegar. I... thought you might want to eat something that didn't come out of a tube."

The alien picked up the chopsticks, paused just long enough to make sure the food wasn't too hot to put in her mouth, and slurped up some of the long strands. The flavor was much stronger than any service ration, and even a large part of Arume civilian cuisine would seem bland in comparison. "You made this?"

Kang nodded, looking faintly embarrassed. "I'm sorry it's not anything exceptional."

"It's fine." Renaril took another mouthful to prove it. "...Is this what you would eat at home?"

"This?" The Chinese woman shook her head. "A Shanxi chef would probably rate this worse than cheap Beijing tourist food." She offered a wry smile. "I never learned to do it correctly."

"I don't mind." This should have been a moment to cherish, especially after the ongoing crisis had put the brakes on the couple's intimate relations, but the mention of Kang's politically hostile home province stirred up thoughts Renaril had been trying to ward off. "Li... If we..."

"Yes..?"

Renaril swallowed with an empty mouth. "If we ever become enemies... do you think you could you still love me?"

"What?" Kang twisted so that she was facing her companion. "Why are you thinking about something like that?"

"I don't know why," the smaller female admitted. "I don't know, but I'm afraid..."

"Don't be." Kang laid a hand on her shoulder. "I can't say it's impossible," the soldier conceded, "that some day we might be separated." She gave a gentle squeeze. "But I don't think it's a realistic problem right now. Eat up and we'll..."

Renaril lifted her head sharply as Kang trailed off, unable to suppress the oncoming yawn reflex. "Li, have you slept at all since yesterday?"

"About twenty minutes. I'll rest later."

Even when they'd had this conversation before, that kind of casual disclosure was still disturbing. Renaril closed the lid on the noodles, set the can on the floor and stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "Not later," the Arume declared, "now."

"I'm all right, Renaril. I can keep going – "

The forime started to get up, but the alien pushed her back down. "You can't keep doing this," the latter said firmly. "It's bad for you and it's bad for the baby."

"But – "

Renaril was unswayed, her concern for the health of the mother to be overriding her usual reluctance to challenge the colonel directly. "Sleep. Now."

Kang yawned again, and this action seemed to convince her that she might in fact be overtaxing herself. "...Maybe for a couple of hours," she sighed, kicking her shoes off one by one. "But wake me if anything happens, anything at all. Understand?"

"Of course." Renaril looked on in open adoration as Kang swung her legs onto the couch and stretched out. "Tonight, um... Tonight, let's use my room, okay?"

"Mm..."

Satisfied, Renaril pushed her feet into her own shoes, collected the noodles and the printout, and departed for the control room. She felt a little better about her prospects for the day ahead, despite the flicker of guilt which lingered in the wake of her white lie – barring an actual emergency, she intended to let Kang sleep for however long it took to fulfill her body's needs.

In the control room Negadael and Eripol were already on duty, and one of the night shift operators – Pronamel, or something like that – was still working as well. Renaril announced her presence softly: "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Group Commander," came the collective reply.

Renaril sat down at the table behind her subordinates and their consoles. "The colonel is taking a nap," she said, "so you can give me any work she left unfinished."

"There isn't any," Negadael replied. "She made a, um... a clean sweep, but you do have a meeting with Weisheng Ying scheduled for ten hundred hours."

"I remember." The noddles were still warm and Renaril was still hungry, but she needed to be considerate. "Have you eaten yet?"

"The colonel brought us some rations," said Pronamel, rolling back her chair. "Group Commander, I'm done here."

"Thanks for the hard work." It was a formulaic utterance, but Renaril put her sincerity into it. "There's nothing else to report?" she went on, addressing the others as Pronamel walked out.

"No, ma'am," Eripol answered. "You could go back to sleep for a while if you like."

A tempting proposition, but not one Renaril could take up. Li stayed awake when I was resting, she told herself sternly. She did so much work and cooked for me on top of that – now it's my turn. "Thanks," the senior Arume said aloud, "but I'd better stay here."

Reaching across the table, she snagged the telephone and pulled it closer to herself.

"Whoops." Schuhart balanced his AKMS in the crook of his arm and brought out his satellite phone. "Koreaaaaans, we're up to our knees in Koreaaaaans... Hang on a second, I need to turn up the volume... Okay, go ahead."

"Um, hello." Hearing Renaril's voice come out of the handset diverted Richardson's attention from her breakfast. "I saw the news piece about the laser."

"Nasty thing, isn't it?" The arms dealer leaned back against a bare concrete wall, watching the eight off-watch gosta devour their field rations. "I'll ask Nereus to show it to you once it arrives in Hong Kong... Anyway, what's up?"

"I was wondering if there was any more information about Azanael."

"Ah." When Richardson looked up from spreading meat paste onto a large cracker, she saw a look of subtle worry on the man's face. "We haven't heard anything since the initial message, sorry."

"Do you think they'll kill her?"

"Not likely," Schuhart opined. "Not as long as they think she might be useful for leverage."

"I hope you're right," Renaril told him. "What about the other pilots?"

"The Norks are claiming they were shot while resisting capture."

"Oh... Uh, so what are you doing now?"

"Me? I'm camping out with the girls."

"...Camping?"

Based on her knowledge of the forime pastime, Richardson could agree with that comparison. "Pretty much," said Schuhart, apparently of like mind, "except that we've got an unfinished building instead of tents, we're eating Russian army rations instead of marshmallows and hot dogs, and we spent our morning machine-gunning the neighbors instead of singing songs around a campfire."

"Could you, um... be more specific, please?"

"Don't you mean, could I be more serious?" The blond man limped over to the closest opening in the outer wall, where a gallery window was meant to be installed later in the building's fabrication, and warily looked upon the overcast vista outside. "We've cut the Huangpu at two points, denying the KPA access to the upstream canals. The forward firebase is in a construction site on the east bank in Pudong, overlooking a bend in the river south of the Bund. It's a big project – you can probably find it on an up-to-date map."

"I'm looking at it now... But doesn't this exceed the boundaries of your contract to protect the Nerv base?"

"As the saying goes, sometimes the best defense is a good offense."

"Is it working?"

"A couple of Nork platoons tried to push us back about three hours ago. Obviously we're still here and they aren't. According to the hostages we freed this morning..."

The war trophies lying on the girls' bedrolls were silent tributes to the success of the last battle, the Tokarev rifle at Richardson's side not least among them. While the telephoning man walked away down the length of the drafty room, she turned her face towards Harrington and the can of water boiling atop the disposable stove in front of the other gosta. The stove was fueled by a burning tablet of hexamine, a compact and convenient source of energy – and, said Schuhart, a chemical precursor to the high explosive RDX.

Harrington made a purring noise when her girlfriend leaned in and pressed warm lips against her cheek. "It's not ready yet."

"I know."

"...By the way, where's the colonel?" Now Schuhart was coming back along the far side of the room. "That's good, she needs a break. Are you going to do anything special tomorrow?" Richardson couldn't hear Renaril's response, but the man looked satisfied. "Okay... Tell her I'm sorry we can't be there for it, all right?"

"That's right," Carcano whispered behind Richardson's back. "It's Colonel Kang's birthday tomorrow."

"She's so busy," said Rubin, stirring juice concentrate powder into her cup. "I wonder if she even remembers it."

"...And we're still waiting to see what Landline Transnational does. How's that package coming along? Uh-huh... Now? Seriously?" Schuhart grimaced. "Why me?" His change in tone reclaimed the attention of the gosta. "Yeah, great. They want a trial on the front line, I get it... No promises. I'll take a look at it when it gets here... I know it's not your fault, so don't worry about it. You just take care of the colonel, all right? ...Good. I'll talk to you later... 'Bye."

Sauer spoke for all the girls: "What's happened?"

"It's nothing serious." Schuhart returned the satphone to its carry position and sat down on one of the oblong supply crates which rested in the middle of the room. "We're finally getting that electronic translator I asked for, but in return the sky eyes want one of their own on the ground as an observer. They're sending Elaqebil, so that's not so bad."

"Won't the warlords object to more Arume coming?"

"As long as said Arume don't actually cross their territory, there's not much the cliques can do about it... More importantly, the sky eyes also want me to field test some new weapon Boomslang Ordnance has been working on."

"New weapon?"

"Don't get excited, Korth. It's not going to win the war for us." The leader folded his arms. "But since Renaril has put in a word on their behalf, I'll have to give it a go."

"Oh."

"Yeah... Enjoy the food, kids. Your shift starts in eighteen minutes."

Blue Sea Dormitory, Kaiou Academy
Japan, Second Universal Layer
1999

Tsubael hadn't meant to peep.

Officers of the Arume navy did not conduct themselves so carelessly, she assured herself as her ghostly projection drifted down the dark corridors of the schoolgirls' residence. No, she was merely a dutiful subordinate who came to make sure her overworked commander was resting adequately. She would come and stick her head in the door just long enough to verify the situation, and then she would leave.

"Am I doing it right?"

..!

Commander Ekaril was on the right-hand bed... Mari's bed. She lay on her back, her knees drawn up and her thighs spread, the expanse of pale skin conveying every tremor in her sleek, toned muscles. "Yes," she answered, in a voice that was half moan and half whisper.

Mari knelt between the alien's ankles, naked as well. Her hands were buried in Ekaril's nether parts. "Now what?"

"Press gently with your finger tip and rub in a circle... Aah – !"

Tsubael hadn't meant to peep, but she couldn't look away. She's... The commander is..!

Moving deeper into the room, towards Ekaril's vacant bed, the navigator was able to see the forime's expression of deep concentration. Mari followed the last directive for several seconds, her eyes fixed on the supine female's face, before inspiration moved her in a new direction. She raised one arm, reaching out above Ekaril's upper body, and extended a finger which glistened in the dim light. Tsubael held her breath in anticipation as that finger descended, curled back towards its root, and then flicked across the stiff pink nub at the peak of the commander's breast. Ekaril gasped, her flawless cornflower eyes snapping open. The watcher gasped too, and hastily ducked into the floor before either of the budding lovers could notice her. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the mortified wraith fled from the dormitory.

Tsubael hadn't meant to peep, but she'd done it anyway. Stupid..! Careless..!

Back in her seat on the cruiser's bridge, she passed the next half-hour alternating between berating herself and praying that the commander wouldn't reprimand her for the indiscretion. As time passed, however, her guilt gave way to rationalization: could any sane woman endure this isolated life for as long as she had and not feel lonely?

Blue departed from the first layer with a crew of 206, all ranks. A night of terror off the rocky shores of Kamiokijima reduced it to two. Integral automation allowed Tsubael to operate the damaged vessel virtually single-handed for the next five years, but the ship's dumb AI made a poor conversation partner and was absolutely useless when it came to her physical needs. Meanwhile the commander became aloof, immersing herself more and more in her double life among the forime. Tsubael contented herself with watching the people of these lands from a distance, absorbing their ways piecemeal. She learned to speak a couple of their languages, tap into their 'telafoen' networks and watch their 'telavizhon' transmissions, but only near the end of the mission did she mentally elevate them above the level of barbarians needing to be subjugated.

She hated to admit it, but Tsubael was starting to miss having Azanael around to trade barbs with, even after the other's betrayal of Ekaril's trust and sabotage of their ship. The navigator had done a lot of thinking after her initial rage subsided, and found herself wondering if the pilot had simply cracked under the strain. Everyone knew Shivariel was a harsh taskmaster, and the grief of losing Onomil – compounded by only receiving confirmation of her death years after the fact – couldn't have improved the flight chief's mental state... Nor did having to watch Ekaril, whom she blamed for the loss of her partner, laughing and smiling as she mingled with the natives, as if the decimation of the crew meant nothing to their commander.

Tsubael hadn't meant to peep, but she couldn't stop the spectacle from flashing through her mind after the fact. Think about something else! Think about something else! Think about – !

It hurt, even though it was the outcome she already expected. Ekaril loved Mari, not her... Mari, who resembled her so strongly in figure and attitude. It hurt, even though she knew the choice was made with no malice towards herself... It hurt, and it left her looking for second-best options. She'd always known that she would be expected to do her duty with a forime woman even if Ekaril reciprocated her feelings, but she'd put off looking for alternate candidates. For better or worse, the only forime she knew well enough to evaluate at this hour were Mari's classmates.

The rotund Funatsumaru Hiroko was right out, though Tsubael could still see her as a friend. Ekaril's three fangirls were fairly good looking, but the Arume found their shrill, fawning demeanor utterly repellent. Kawashima Akane was a more promising candidate, at least on a purely strategic level, but the alien feared that their personalities would clash in the same way hers already did with Azanael... What about Kouzuki Michiko, then? She was a comfortingly familiar sight, jogging around the campus in her tracksuit pants and white shirt, and Tsubael had watched closely as the budding playwright crafted her story, pouring her feelings into a work which –

"Grrrrr..!"

Arume high speed transport
East China Sea
G-hour plus 26:01:13

Tsubael opened an eye and turned it towards her fellow passenger. "Stuck in your game again?" she asked irritably.

"Yeah," Elaqebil muttered, oblivious to Tsubael's malcontent. "I have to pick up this flask to proceed, but it won't let me."

The wing-in-ground vehicle was fast, fast enough that the ride from Nagasaki to Shanghai would take barely an hour, but whoever programmed the skimmer's automatic stabilizer routines had done a sloppy job: the constant wobbling was starting to upset Tsubael's stomach, and she was seriously contemplating the great schadenfreude potential of parking her morning meal in Elaqebil's lap if she absolutely couldn't keep it down. "Give it here," she sighed, yanking the PDA out of the other Arume's hand.

Elaqebil's craze of the day was an adventure game with a text interface. The format was not unfamiliar to Tsubael, who had dissected a couple of them while learning to write software for forime computers, but she didn't need the source code to see that the problem wasn't with the program itself: Elaqebil had tried to get ye flask sixteen times, but the command interpreter firmly insisted that you can't get ye flask. Tsubael rolled her eyes, typed get flask, and punched the emulated Enter key at the bottom of the screen.

"Oh," said Elaqebil sheepishly. "I didn't think of that."

"Mmf." Elaqebil was not one of Tsubael's friends. She was Azanael's friend, yes, but to Tsubael she was merely the eccentric bureaucrat who spent all her free time watching movies, playing games and pestering Azanael to have sex with Akane. That wasn't to say she didn't have any good points or didn't mean well, but right now the smaller of the two aliens found her head-in-the-clouds mindset especially grating. "...Elaqebil."

"Hm..?"

"Instead of playing that, could you tell me just what I'm supposed to do in Hangzhou or wherever?"

"Shanghai," said Elaqebil distractedly. "We're going to Shanghai."

"I thought I was supposed to be showing somebody how to use the auto-translator."

"You are, but they're in Shanghai now, not Hangzhou."

This conversation was becoming physically painful. "And who are they?"

"Huh?" Elaqebil finally looked up from her game. "Didn't anybody tell you after you were summoned?"

Tsubael looked away, biting her tongue before she could lash out. "All I know," she said after breathing deeply, "is that somebody wants the auto-translator."

"That's right," said Elaqebil. "The people who are trying to get Azanael back."

Construction site, Pudong District
Shanghai, China
G-hour plus 26:46:20

"Enemy in sight!" Richardson flipped her new SVT-40's safety lever out of its trigger's path. "Action stations!"

She knelt at the northeast edge of the skeletal building's roof, fortified with sacks of dirt and cement taken from the abandoned construction works below, and sighted in. Sauer took command of the Maxim to her right, while Harrington assumed her customary position at Richardson's left elbow. Schuhart hobbled up from the level below just a few seconds later. "What have we got?"

"One boat coming up the river," Harrington reported, looking through her scope. "It's moving slowly. They are flying a DPRK flag... and a white flag."

"A white flag?" Schuhart unfolded his Kalashnikov's double-strut stock and scooted up to the ramparts. "Now the little bastards want to talk?"

The boat – to Richardson it looked like some sort of shallow-draft river tug, not unlike the ones she had seen during visits to Guangzhou – slowed to a crawl. She could see men in dark green uniforms walking about on the forward deck, all armed. Among them was one who wore a grotesquely large cap like in the old photos of KPA guards along the demilitarized zone, captured on film as they stared at their hated enemy through their massive binoculars.

This one carried something other than binoculars in his hand: Richardson first thought it was a weapon and her trigger finger tensed, but once the man raised it in front of his face she realized it was actually a megaphone. "Attention, American dogs." His accent was so thick that the gosta didn't completely understand him until he repeated his words. "Attention, American dogs!"

Uncle Roland was not impressed. "Webley, pass me the yeller."

"Coming."

Another megaphone was brought forward. Schuhart switched it on and took aim at the tug.

"YOU WANNA TALK TO DOGS, CALL A KENNEL! YOU WANNA TALK TO AMERICANS, CALL THE STATE DEPARTMENT! YOU WANNA TALK TO US, YOU SAY 'PLEASE' AND 'THANK YOU' LIKE A FUNCTIONING HUMAN BEING!"

Down on the gun barge moored in the river, Mari cringed. Boss or not, Schuhart was pushing the wrong buttons – especially when Azanael's life was still at stake. "Don't do that," she hissed. "Don't make them angry..."

"Don't worry." G Team's second in command, a wily man by the name of Pastukhov, came over and stood at her side. "They are always angry. You know about Khasan incident? And Panmunjom ax murder?" The Russian turned his stubble-dark face away and spat into the water.

"I know..." Mari looked towards the hulk's stern. The trawler would return in minutes, carrying food, ammunition and an ambiguous special cargo, and while the North Koreans on the other boat wouldn't be able to see it from beyond the bend in the river, they might get aggressive if they figured out how Eto Delo was keeping the makeshift fortress supplied.

The triple stenches of fish, sweat and diesel weren't enough to offset Tsubael's relief at leaving the skimmer. The fishing boat's gentle pitching was far easier on her stomach, and for that alone she could put up with being surrounded by men with large guns and heavy accents for a little while. Elaqebil was curled up in the back of the bridge, still engrossed in her game and leaving the fellow traveler to her own devices.

Tsubael was feeling a bit nervous, however, even with the nausea behind her. They'd sailed up the canal and were now progressing north with the current, and the only life she'd seen was at the friendly checkpoint where the artificial channel merged into the river – two barges, heavily armed. From where she stood, the rest of Shanghai was a ghost city... Its millions of people fled, gone into hiding or seized by the invaders. The sight reminded her of the first wave of kaijin attacks against her adopted home, before the inhabitants learned to combat her race's weaponized microbe colonies with flamethrowers and detergent.

"Group Commander, there's a call for you. It's Schuhart."

"Thanks, Eripol. I'll take it here." Click. "Hello..?"

"Hi. Is the colonel still asleep?"

"Yes, why?"

"We have whipped the grass and startled the snake... I just got back from a frank exchange of opinions with Major Wang of the Korean People's Army. He came out under a flag of truce to inform us that the Norks would show 'generous mercy' if we laid down our arms and withdrew from Shanghai."

"And you said..?"

"I made him a counter-offer: they quit the town, we buy their weapons. He wasn't interested."

Renaril looked at her map, then reached for a printout which was still warm to the touch. "Is that all?"

"We worked out a compromise... They'll return Azanael in exchange for the prisoners taken this morning and the crew of the KPA gunship we picked up yesterday."

A flash of good news out of the gray – better than Renaril dared hope for. "How soon?"

"About two and a half hours from now, in front of the Customs House on the Bund."

"That, um... It's awfully fast, isn't it?" According to the cartograph, the proposed meeting point was an exposed street and footpath which bordered the river itself. "Are you sure this isn't a trap?"

"We're prepared for that."

"Please be careful," the alien insisted, leaning forward in her chair. "I, uh, got some information... I don't know if it's reliable, but it might be useful to you."

"I'm listening."

"All right..." Renaril tried to cradle the handset between her jaw and shoulder, couldn't quite manage it and switched the phone to speaker mode instead. "This came from the Vietnamese government," she continued. "A suspected North Korean military commander was spotted at an airport in Ha Noi ten days ago, boarding a flight to Shanghai... KPA Colonel-Commandant Ma Ri-soo, age thirty-six. I haven't been able to find out a lot about her."

"The PLA should have had an intelligence file."

Renaril nodded reflexively, as if Schuhart were sitting at the same table. "I've got it here, but it doesn't tell us very much other than her awards... Hero of the Republic, Order of the National Flag First Class – "

"Save the bling list for later, if you don't mind. What did the Chinese analysts make of her?"

"Um... They think she started in the Young Red Guards and graduated straight into the army. There's not much about her service record, except that she led the North Korean response to an Air Koryo hijacking nine years ago. After the DPRK collapsed, she fled the country and allegedly worked as an adviser to the regime in Burma."

"Got plenty of experience there, I'm sure. Now she's in Shanghai?"

"The Vietnamese think so." Renaril leafed through the rest of the document. "There's a photo here, from around the time of the hijacking... She looks very pretty, not like someone who would do these cruel things."

"Watch out for the pretty ones," Schuhart chided. "Listen, I've got some stuff I need to do before the exchange. If there's nothing urgent, let's talk again after I get back."

Renaril caught herself nodding again. "All right."

"You're not going out there."

"I am going out there." Schuhart pulled the magazine out of his weapon, laid it on the crate beside himself, and dumped the others from his ammo pack. "Sauer, you and Richardson have command of the fort while I'm gone."

The gosta looked at him with eyes wide in surprise. "We... we aren't coming with you?"

"Not this time."

Mari heard a faint skrrritch as the man drew a length of packing tape off the roll in his hand. "Why do you have to go?" she demanded, watching him wind the tape around a pair of the ribbed steel magazines. "You're the – "

"I'm the boss?" Schuhart held up the freshly taped mags and inverted them with a flick of his wrist. "The boss has responsibilities." Gachik! "Responsibilities like ensuring the safe return of my employees."

"Who else is going?"

"V Team, I guess." The North Korean equipment which had not been yet allocated to those in need or claimed by those in want lay piled in a corner of the unfurnished cavity: Schuhart went over there and began gathering additional ammunition. "Friendly airlift flyyyin' high, commie mortar laaands nearby..."

"Take G Team," the sniper suggested. "They're better rested."

"Mm, good point... Can't let Landline steal the fun, rollin' with mah Russkie gun... Shaaang-haaa-aaa-aaa-aaa-aaaiii, aaa-aaa-aaa-aaa-aaaiii, however did it cooome to this?"

How indeed, thought Mari. Hearing a noise, she turned towards the cement rudiment's stairwell, where the builders had fixed a a block and tackle for lifting materials up the through center of the squared spiral. Mari approached the opening, caution guiding one hand to her sidearm even when visitors were expected, and waited to meet the arrivals.

Elaqebil had gotten a haircut since the last time the Japanese woman saw her face – on television two days ago – but the hair which remained was still green. She was dressed as if to go sightseeing, with a baseball cap and large backpack. Behind her was a slim, white-haired Arume in similar clothing, who looked much less at ease in this setting. "Hello," the former panted.

Schuhart, too, was watching. "Hello, Superintendent," he replied. "Welcome to Oscarsborg-on-Huangpu."

"Nice view from up here," Elaqebil remarked. "This is Tsubael, a system programmer for the electronic translator..."

Mari twitched.

"...Tsubael, this is Roland Schuhart."

The second guest removed her own cap, folded it over and stuffed it into one of her shorts pockets. "Do you have any news about Azanael?"

It was the one and only Tsubael, just as Mari remembered the argumentative alien from her fractured adolescence. She quickly turned away, hoping the former shepherd of Blue wouldn't recognize her in turn.

Schuhart meanwhile cocked his head at Tsubael's impatience. "What's it to you?" he asked evenly.

"What are you talking about? She's my friend!"

"That's funny." The arms dealer went back to taping mags. "When I hired her, the people in your personnel bureau went out of their way to impress upon me that she was an outcast, a pariah... But now that she's in trouble, the office is getting calls from friends everywhere."

"It's the truth," Elaqebil interjected. "Tsubael and Azanael have been close for many years. They're almost like family."

"Exactly," Tsubael added indignantly. "Isn't that why I was picked to come out here?"

"Don't ask me," said Schuhart with a shrug. "Your gadget, it can interpret the northern dialects of Korean?"

"It should, but it hasn't been extensively tested."

"What about Chinese? We need at least the local flavors of Wu."

"It can do that, too."

"Good." The man clapped his hands. "Benelli, Johnson, get the lady set up and learn how that stuff works... Superintendent, I'm going to have to look at the package from Boomslang later."

"Oh? Are you going somewhere?"

"That's right." Schuhart threw a glance Tsubael's way as he slid the jungle-taped magazines back into their pouches. "The latest news about our missing flight chief is that the Norks say they'll trade her for some of their own. I'm heading down to the river to assemble a crew right now."

Tsubael halted with both hands buried in her backpack. "Right now? You mean – "

"Quick deliveries are good for repeat business," the other quipped mirthlessly, keying his personal radio. "Pastukhov, Schuhart here. I'm pulling G Team off the line for prisoner recovery. Assemble the unit for briefing, I'll be with you shortly – out."

That snapped Mari out of the disarray brought on by Tsubael's appearance. She hustled over to the weapon pile, scooped up a Sudayev submachine gun and its ammunition pouch, and made tracks for the stairwell.

Schuhart looked back at her from halfway down the first flight of steps. "Where are you going?"

"I also have responsibilities." Mari flexed the pouch's carry strap, dark and stiff with splotches of dried blood, then passed it over her shoulder and nailed her employer with a look of icy resolve. "I'm going with you."