LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/Streets of Lanjin Cheng
Streets of Lanjin Cheng
"The name 'Lanjin Cheng' is Chinese -- a language from Earth most commonly associated with takeaway menus and archaic, poorly-dubbed movies. It translates as 'Forbidden Blue City'.
The city is in fact neither especially blue nor particularly forbidden. Tourists may in fact wander around most of its environs unmolested -- unless they happen to pay for that privilege in one of the city's more salubrious establishments. Hence it seems that the name is the result of a historical circumstance which is no longer the case, or else that the person who selected the name wasn't greatly proficient with the Chinese language.
I attempted to question a local merchant in an effort to establish which might be the case. However, he responded by saying, "You here buy or you here ask stupid questions? Get out my store!" (or words to that effect which I've chosen to render thus for humorous purposes). Hence I left his establishment none the wiser.
In spite of this curious onomastic mystery, Lanjin Cheng is most certainly worth visiting and exploring at length. Its marketplaces are bustling hives of tantalizing sights, sounds, and smells, and its major streets and squares are adorned with spectacular artworks in honor of the imperial family."
-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos
"The bastards..."
Talia utters the words, but they may just as easily have come from any of your mouths.
On the monitor the Princess' face displays first horror, then anger. Even Master Wu's implacable features betray hints of the dark and troubled emotions beneath the ministerial visage. The ship's cameras are relaying the scene to them, showing them what you and your companions can see through the window and upon the flight cabin's displays.
Lanjin Cheng, Sian's vast capital, sprawls below -- illuminated in the glow of artificial lights from the bank of the Laughing Dragon River to the distant mountains. But the homeworld's glorious imperial city is a scarred, defiled version of that which it viciously displaces in your memories.
The beautiful edifices are in ruins. Statues and sculptures have been torn down -- in many cases left lying in the streets like the victims of a massacre. The Centurian Collective despises art, loathes heritage derived from Earth's historical eras. And they've given vent to that vile hatred.
Those of Sian's inhabitants who were able to send surreptitious messages off-world spoke of the destruction wrought upon the planet, but mere words could never have prepared you for such a sight.
Master Wu is the first to recover and fill the silence.
"The rebels are about to strike -- both here and in many of the other major settlements. You should prepare to make your landing."
You reply with a mechanical nod, your eyes still on the debased cityscape below. Wu Tenchu had used his previous scanty channels of communication to ready Sian's freedom fighters for a widespread uprising as best he could. With access to the Emperor's Voice the final preparations have been far easier. Only the barest handful, those agents most trusted by the mandarin, know the full magnitude of the plan -- that their attacks are to distract the Centurians while you rescue the Emperor. But even so, countless thousands are ready to fight.
An explosion blooms below, an orange-red flower of destruction. Even before its petals have died out and given way to flaming wreckage, there's another -- and then another, burning maws answering and echoing the call.
As if it were a dam that perished in the conflagration, unleashing a torrent, in moments the streets are filled with chaos.
Won't Know What Hit Them
Laser and blaster fire flashes amid the cityscape, a million tiny lights that speak of battle and death. There are buildings ablaze, plumes of smoke billowing into the night air. A handful of saboteur teams who know what they're doing, assisted by the efforts of masses of brave men and women who yearn to strike back against invaders and oppressors, can inflict great harm in but a short time.
But against a mighty engine of war like the Centurian military...
"They're being slaughtered," the Princess whispers.
Zoomed-in views of the battles below show the truth of her words. The Collective's troops are in the streets, dressed in their foreboding armor, weapons spitting death into the crowds. The Centurians may wish to conquer and annex, to control the Sian Empire -- and the rest of human space besides -- rather than annihilating it, but they're ready enough to wash the streets with blood to put down the insurrection.
"Butchers..." Kess spits. Even the assassin, whose claws have been reddened with countless lives, winces at the carnage.
"It was inevitable," Master Wu says. "They're giving their lives for your father's freedom, as we knew they would."
Tanks are trundling into the squares. A long-legged, crab-like mech looms above the fray, its lasers ripping brutal trails of carnage -- scattering those before it. Gunships are flocking in the sky like birds of prey.
The rebels have no chance. All they can do is purchase your success with their lives.
"We have to do something!" Telemachus says. "Help them!"
"Don't be foolish."
Wu Tenchu replies to the prince, but his eyes are fastened on you. Does the cunning mandarin perceive the thoughts and emotions surging within you?
"They're dying!"
"What would you have the captain do? Battle all the Centurian forces on the planet? Liberate the world single-handedly? This isn't one of your videogames."
"No, it isn't," you say. "And I can't save them all. But I can still make the Centurians pay a price."
"They're our people," Talia says.
Master Wu sighs, his solemn exterior collapsing to reveal troubled eyes and a face as distraught as the Princess'.
"I know," he says. "But what you're seeing below is happening in the other cities as well. No matter how much it pains you, people will perish. You must accept that."
"I do," you reply. "That doesn't mean I can't give them one victory, something to cling to when the bodies are being cleared from the streets."
"Highness..." he says, turning to the Princess -- knowing as always that her word will sway you, that you'll do whatever it is she asks of you. "Your father waits in his cell. The captain must head to the palace."
The Princess looks into his eyes. Then she turns back to the screen, meeting your gaze.
"Do what you feel is right, [Name]."
You turn round to the others. They're silent, all their eyes on you -- watching and waiting for your judgment. Talia's hands clench and unclench, eager to reach for weapon controls. Lu Bu is impassive, his metal face revealing nothing. The young prince wears a look of determination, big bright eyes begging for the call to action. Ragnar's hand is tight around his axe, thirsting for violence as always -- even though he won't be able to take part in it and bring the weapon into play. Kess gives you a small nod. Lupin shrugs.
"Battle stations," you say.
"You got it," Telemachus says. The prince slips into the gunner's chair.
"Captain..." Wilex's face appears on one of the other monitors. "Use the Hades missiles. They won't reveal your presence."
He's right...
"Tel, you ever steered a guided missile before?"
"It's like steering a ship, right? Except that it's fine when you crash into something?"
"Exactly."
Panzerfaust
Centurian bodies fly though the air, twisting and tumbling like ragdolls before smashing against buildings or bouncing across the street -- scattering their gore with each impact.
The Niflung's laugh fills the cabin.
On the screen the Princess' beautiful face is warlike, overcast with grim approval at the slaughter of your enemies.
The Hades missiles, each of them containing its own cloaking device, are unstoppable killers -- invisible until they explode. All the Centurians can know is that death is finding them.
Below you the rebels are rallying, swarming towards the disarrayed Centurian infantrymen. The losses will be high this day. There's nothing you can do to prevent that. But you still feel pride surge in your breast as you see your fellow subjects bringing their righteous fury to bear against the men and women of the Collective.
"Tanks?" Talia says.
"Tanks," you agree.
You direct the ship's flight towards the big square, where an armored column is massing.
Sweep the Leg
The heavily armored engines of war fare no better than the troopers. Each becomes a twisted metal tomb for those caught inside, a carcass of flaming metal.
"I want to take out the mech," Telemachus says.
You look at one of the monitors, where the gangly-legged machine towers above squadrons of soldiers -- its flashing weapons securing their advance.
"Aim for the legs," you say.
Aerial Waltz
"I got it!" the prince yells.
The mech staggers like a drunkard, swaying atop its damaged legs as if threatening to vomit the contents of an alcohol-ravaged stomach.
"Pretty sure it was my one that did it," Talia says.
"Oh, yeah? Then watch this..."
A few seconds later an explosion bursts into being on one of the mech's legs. This time the metal yields beneath its force. The leg falls one way, and the rest of the machine -- doomed by the weakness of its remaining limbs and the intransigent laws of physics -- collapses in another. Straight onto the horde of Centurians.
The ensuing carnage fills your monitors for a moment, before a final explosion hides it beneath a blanket of flame.
A cheer washes through the cabin, echoed in the distant chamber where Wilex and Illaria share the sight of the mighty machine's death. Wu Tenchu has disappeared, and a faint smile crosses your lips at the thought that he might be sulking at your decision.
But both smile and cheering are banished when Talia's voice pierces the euphoria.
"They're onto us!" she says.
The red blips on the ship's scanner which represent enemy aircraft are sweeping towards the center of the display.
You curse. The bravado, the elation of victory, gives way to the cold certainty that you've failed. Your decision, your folly, has cost you the mission.
"They've guessed that there's a hostile craft somewhere up here. They'll alert the whole city..."
"No," a voice says, "they will not."
The Princess moves aside as she turns -- revealing Master Wu, who's sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room.
"I've used the Emperor's Voice to silence their communications," he continues.
Relief surges within you like a tidal wave, filling your body and emerging as a soft laugh.
Red lasers are flashing through the air, the crimson fingers of blind men -- now struck dumb as well -- probing for a target they sense must exist.
"If one of those hits us," Lupin says, "we'll be exposed."
"You know how good you are at stealing stuff?" Talia asks. "That's the captain at flying. Just watch..."
Vulture Gunship
The thief gives a long, low whistle as the enemy craft blossom into fiery death in quick succession.
You smile inwardly. It's been a while since you've flown with someone unfamiliar with your skill as a fighter pilot. And being able to impress so tough an audience as the debonair thief is gratifying. But even so...
You meet Master Wu's gaze on the screen. You bow your head. He returns the gesture, accepting all it entails -- the admission, the apology, the gratitude.
"One more aircraft, captain," Talia says.
A black mass floats in the distance, spinning blades atop its predatory body flashing as they slice the moonlight. Weapons blaze from it, perhaps a dozen streams of fire clawing in all directions.
The gunship's crew are firing at places where you might have been, without knowing where you now are. They don't have a chance in hell of hitting you. It would be easy enough to avoid them...
"Destroy it," Master Wu instructs. "The people onboard are silenced for now, but if they land they will spread word."
You nod. No one can live to tell the tale, not with your mission as yet undone.
The gunship's pilots and gunners are skilled. Their lines of fire are perfectly calculated to shield them from incoming missiles -- to intercept them, invisible as they are, and rip them open. And with each minor victory their probing becomes a little more dangerous, draws that much closer to you.
They have no way of knowing for certain where you're firing from. But whoever's in charge of the craft is a gifted aerial tactician, surely evaluating and anticipating -- trying to judge where you might position yourself, and raking that part of the sky with trails of fire.
Against another pilot they might win.
"If I open up with the lasers," you say, "it'll reveal our position -- to them and everyone on the ground."
"I'm trying with the missiles," Talia replies, "but they're getting a bit too good at stopping them. We've only got one left."
"Try to make it count."
"No!" Telemachus says. "Give it to me!"
"Tel-" Talia begins.
"I've been watching it since I ran out of missiles. It's not firing at random -- it's firing in patterns! It's like one of those old scrolling flying games, where you had to work out how to dodge all the lasers and stuff."
Talia looks to you.
"Go for it, Tel," you say.
The gunslinger presses a button, relinquishing authority over the last Hades missile to the prince.
He cries out in delight.
Behind you the others are crowding around the gunning station, looking over Telemachus to watch the missile's flight on his screen. You're about to tell them not to crowd him when you see the elation on his face. He's relishing the pressure, the presence of his audience.
Several seconds pass, in which you continue to slip away from the advancing enemy and evade the flurries of gunfire -- unwilling to simply fly from the scene until you're sure the job is done.
"Tel, did you fire?" you ask. "Where-"
"Shut up!" he says. "Just need to..."
When the explosion comes, it's on the opposite side of the gunship.
"You flew the missile all the way round to the other side?" Talia asks.
"It was the best way. Had just enough time to pull it off."
The aircraft spins as though reeling from a blow, smoke rushing from its hindquarters like blood erupting from a wound. It revolves several times, cartwheeling through the air. Then another explosion takes it, this one from deep within -- parting its hull and scattering its innards to the four winds.
"So, I'm pretty awesome, aren't I?"
He dodges out of his seat just in time to avoid Ragnar's slap on the back from potentially launching him into the monitor.
"If anyone ever tells you that kids should go outside and play," you say, "instead of sitting in front of videogames all day, you have my permission to take your chainsaw to them."