Lacuna: The Ashes of Humanity (19 page)

Liao turned to organise some of the papers on her desk. "How? How can you just… do that? Move on from someone?"

"It is not easy, and the weight of recent events has been weighing on me, too. But when things like this happen, I try to think of the stories from the Koran, of the words Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
left for us through his prophets."

Although she was feeling much better, Liao could use some words like that. "How do you mean?"

"Well, take the story of the hairdresser, for example. An example of how Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
tests us."

She raised a swollen eyebrow. "A story about a hairdresser? Is this because I shaved my head?"

"Hah, no. The holy Koran tells the story of Firaun and his daughter's hairdresser. Firaun, whom Mohammad the Prophet
alayhi s-salām
had described as the
zalim
; the tyrant of all tyrants, the greatest tyrant to ever walk the face of this Earth."

"You keep saying those things," she said. "What does
subhānahu wa ta'āla
mean? Or
alayhi s-salām
?"

He smiled. "They're honorifics. For example,
subhānahu wa ta'āla
means 'Peace Be Upon Him'. Islam assigns honorifics to be added when speaking the names of Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
, the Prophet Mohammad
alayhi s-salām
, and the names of saints, angels and archangels. They can sometimes make a story hard to understand for those who are not used to such things, but to me it's perfectly natural. They're said in the same breath, almost as though they were part of the name."

Islam, it seemed, much like the Toralii, was fond of titles. She was not.

"So," she asked. "If you don't mind me asking… how do you explain being a gay Muslim?"

"Not easily," Kamal said, laughing. "It's complicated, but I think books like Christian Bible, the holy Koran, and the Jewish Torah… religion
itself
… is supposed to serve an uplifting purpose. It's supposed to make you better than you are, physically, emotionally, or spiritually. It's never designed to hate, especially not to hate yourself. We are all the creations of Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
. Hating yourself is to hate the handiwork of our God, and that strikes me as particularly blasphemous."

"I can't fault your logic on that front," Liao said. "But you know I don't believe all that stuff."

"Of course. I know that. I am a Muslim only because I was lucky. It was an accident in geography. If I were born in the United States, I would be a Christian. If I were born in India, I would be a Hindu. You were born in the People's Republic of China, and so you have no religion. It is not a slight of your character to not believe. We mortals cannot really, truly know the will of Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
, and he judges us in a complex, deep way far too intricate for us to understand. This is why I do not judge non-believers or those with different faiths, because I know that but for the grace of Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
I would be one of them. I am not special."

An interesting philosophy, and Liao found herself nodding along as he spoke. "So," she said, "will you tell me of this hairdresser?"

Kamal took a breath and began.

"When the Prophet alayhi s-salām was walking on his night journey, he smelled the most beautiful fragrance. He asked Jibreel alayhi s-salām what the smell was.

"Jibreel alayhi s-salām told him that it was Firaun's family hairdresser and her family. The Prophet alayhi s-salām asked for the story, so Jibreel alayhi s-salām told it to him.

"One day, Firaun's hairdresser was combing the hair of Firaun's daughter, and her comb fell. As the hairdresser went to pick it up, she said 'Bismillah!' It means 'in the name of the Lord'.

"Firaun's daughter asked, 'You mean my father?'

"But the hairstylist said, 'No, I mean Allah subhānahu wa ta'āla. My Lord, your father's Lord, the Lord of the heavens and the Earth and the universe.'

"Firaun's daughter told her father this, and the next day Firaun went to the hairdresser's home. His guards took the woman and her three young boys into the main room of their house.

"Firaun was standing there with a cauldron. The Koran describes the cauldron as so big that a cow could fit inside it, and so hot that the water spat out of the surface and onto the floor.

"Firaun said, 'Oh hair stylist, who is your Lord?'

"And she replied, 'Allah is my lord, and your lord.'

"Firaun's guards dragged the first of her children to the cauldron. He was screaming.

"'Mother!

"'Mother!'

"And they threw him into the boiling water.

"As the child died, he was still screaming.

"'Mother!

"'Mother!'

"And Firaun, this zalim, the tyrant of tyrants, said, 'Oh hairdresser, who is your Lord?'

"And she said 'Allah is my lord, and your lord.'

"Imagine. This mother just saw her child literally melt in front of her eyes, and she still said her Lord was Allah subhānahu wa ta'āla. She said it to the zalim's face.

"So Firaun's guards grabbed the second child and threw him too into the water. He screamed, too, as he died.

"The tyrant asked again, 'Who is your Lord?'

"The mother—with hesitation in her heart this time, imagine her pain, imagine seeing what she had seen—she said… 'Allah is my Lord and your Lord.'

"So the guards grabbed the smallest child, the baby, and held him over the cauldron. Her heart was saying… oh, Allah subhānahu wa ta'āla, what should I do? What should I do, my Lord?

"And then a miracle from Allah subhānahu wa ta'āla. This baby, this infant, opened his mouth and said, 'Oh mother, do not worry, we are in heaven.'

"And the mother said, 'Allah is my Lord. He is my Lord, and he is your Lord.'

"Firaun threw the baby into the cauldron. Then, at last, he threw the woman in, too.

"But she still said, even as she died, 'Allah is my Lord, and he is your Lord.'"

Of all the stories Iraj could have told, this one was the worst possible. The idea of the child melting in the cauldron—just as Allison had melted in the cauldron that was Earth—made her sick to her stomach. She could not imagine the hairstylist clinging to her faith in the face of such things. The joy of the past evening, of spending a night with James and finally taking steps to shake off her dark mood, began to fade.

She did not want to disrespect her XO's story, but she could not thank him for telling it.

"That's a terrible story."

"It is," Iraj agreed, leaning forward slightly. "Absolutely. The mother and her three children die at the end, and Firaun is still the tyrant. The ruler of the land. There is no retribution in this life for him, until his destruction and judgement. Where is the fairness in that? The equality? I struggled with the story of Firaun and the hairstylist for some time, unable to reconcile this conflict with myself. Why would a merciful God, Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
, do this to someone who clearly loved him as much as anyone could? And if Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
had done this to his most faithful servant, what hope would the rest of us have for His miracles? Who are we to ask for more than she did?"

"That's what I was thinking."

"The moral of the story," Iraj said, "is almost, in a way, similar to the one from the story of Job from the Christian Bible. The story of a man whose faith is tested by horrible events, something God could have prevented with but a thought. Instead, he allows his faithful servant to lose everything and to suffer. Why would a merciful God do this?

"The answer, Melissa, is that we believe there to be another world beyond this one, beyond the stars and planets in the sky. Another place where the righteous receive their rewards, and the unjust are punished. It is not this world, though." Iraj smiled sadly. "All we have in this world is the justice of men."

"What happened to Firaun in the end?" asked Liao.

"It's a very long story, but according to the stories, he had a dream that a great fire would come from the Palestine region and burn his race to ashes. A child would come from Bani Israil, a land he enslaved, and this would be the cause of the fire. He… overreacted in a lot of ways, killing the children of Bani Israil, and while he killed so many children, he missed the child who was the prophesied child. This ended up being his downfall."

"I see."

Iraj smiled. "In Islam, we have two core concepts.
Iman
and
Tawakkul
. That is to say, belief in Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
, and trust in Allah
subhānahu wa ta'āla
that if he says he is going to do something for me, then he will, in this life or the next. This saves a person."

"Forgive my scepticism, but I'd rather have the help in this life."

"Of course," said Iraj, "as would we all. But we cannot know the mind of our creator or his plan."

Liao couldn't accept this. It seemed like a way out, a way for the believers to rationalise away any failed promises, but Iraj's point was well intentioned. "Of course."

"Anyway, I came here with a bit of news you might find interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Not good, not bad, but interesting." He handed her a piece of paper. "A report from the
Tehran
. A Toralii shuttle escaped Belthas IV, and Commander Sabeen spoke to the pilot. She suspects—granted, with little evidence, but I'm inclined to agree—that it might have been Ben, and he may have escaped."

She read the report, expecting the news to be devastating to her, but in some ways, she was almost secretly glad. Ben had done terrible things, but his jump drive had been destroyed. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Ben could not harm them anymore.

Then she found one line that made her stop.

Ben had used her voice.

Had the clone of her body survived the descent into Belthas IV's atmosphere? It seemed impossible, and Ben had shown the capability to imitate voices in the past.

"Interesting," she said, handing it back.

"I thought you should know. It's unlikely that he survived…"

"I know," she said.

"And it's unlikely that he can do anything to us even if he did…"

"I know." Liao took in a breath. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Kamal took the printout back and, with a crisp salute, left. Liao, with a renewed vigour and energy, went to her duty shift.

For the first time in a long time, it felt good to be heading to Operations, surrounded by her crew and her team. Liao dropped by her quarters to change and even apply a little makeup, but she could not completely conceal her appearance beneath foundation and eye liner. Her bruises were too significant for that.

Her appearance attracted a lot of attention. Every eye was upon her in the corridor, and when she arrived, business stopped as her Operations crew all tried to stare at her without being caught.

It would be incorrect to say that she didn't mind, but she understood their curiosity. She didn't mention her injuries, nor did she offer any kind of explanation or acknowledgement. She just went to work.

The
Beijing
's radars swept the sky, their waves a ceaseless watch of the heavens above Velsharn, and their data was cross-linked to his sister ships in orbit, along with Broadswords who covered the blind spots. The orbits of the other Pillars were coordinated such that the Lagrange points of the Velsharn planet were always under surveillance. Broadswords scouted out other jump points at irregular intervals, creating a mesh of radar signals that covered everything.

The Humans flies spun their web, waiting for a spider to step in and be trapped.Watching their efforts brought her a great comfort. She stood by her original statement—the Alliance would not be repelled by their meagre forces—but it was good to do something.
 

Liao had been sad long enough. It was time to square her shoulders and get down to the business of survival.

The hours ticked away. It was difficult to be in command when nothing was happening; Liao resisted the urge to ask everyone to report their statuses every five minutes. The time passed slowly and uneventfully, and then it was time for her shift to end and the swing shift to begin.

Iraj stepped up beside her. "Commander. You are relieved."

She smiled. "I stand relieved."

As Liao turned to leave, the internal comm link chirped. She looked at Kamal, but he offered it to her.

"You're technically off duty."

"The CO's never off duty," said Liao, and slipped the headset over her head. "This is
Beijing
actual."

Cheung's voice came back to her. "Captain, I'm here with a dozen marines in the hangar bay. There's been a security disturbance."

That seemed odd to her. Security problems? "What's the nature of this disturbance?"

"I've got Shepherd down here, ma'am, and we're trying to sort it out. Apparently, elements of the civilian population have come to blows. Some of the Chinese citizens the
Washington
rescued are claiming that they have residence rights over the Americans we rescued from Houston. They claim that because the
Beijing
is the property of the People's Republic of China that they should be the ones to live on the planet, while the Americans should have to live on the
Washington
instead of them. Break." Cheung seemed to talk to someone on the other side. "They say that they're open to compromise."