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Songshu was never quiet. It was always something—the soft footsteps of the security team on watch, the low chatter of the interns, the gentle burble of the water features. This morning, however, it was far less innocuous. From the vantage point of their office, River could hear shouting; Aubrey was drunk and belligerent, nothing novel. It was an unfortunate consequence of the loss of their inhibitions.[1] Still—that was louder than it usually was. Perhaps it would be to everyone’s benefit if River went and checked on Aubrey.
River sighed, turned off their tablet, and steeled their nerves. They were halfway out of their office before it suddenly occurred to them to grab their empty mug, for plausible deniability.[2] This was going to be unpleasant.
Songshu was more of an ecosystem than an estate, most of the great ones were—right now, it was clear that Aubrey’s fury had infected the rest of the house. Every intern River passed looked slightly shell-shocked, flinching as River came into their peripheral vision. It was that simple thing that frightened River more than they could say; Aubrey and Max, as a general rule, didn’t fight. Aubrey yelled, and Max was stony and silent the whole time.
River wasn’t far off the foyer when suddenly there came a loud crash; it was like someone had dropped an entire pane on the floor. Someone was cursing quietly in Russian.
River couldn’t take it anymore; they sprinted the rest of the way. “What happened?” they barked. “What did—“
The hallway opened out onto the foyer, and there was Aubrey, a miserable expression on their face. One of the massive glass walls had shattered completely, blood on the corners of some of the shards. A person had been lying in that pile of glass, just a few moments before—River could see their vague outline, and the trajectory of blood up the main staircase.
River bit off the end of their sentence, suddenly upset with themself. They couldn’t blame Aubrey for this. It was the alcohol, and River’s own fault for provoking them. This ought to have been a conversation for another time, when no one was bleeding out.
“Don’t fucking look at me.” Aubrey’s voice was raw, with the barest hint of a tremor. It was only because River knew them so well that they could tell Aubrey was holding back tears.
“What—“
“I don’t want to talk about it. They were being an asshole, they deserved it.” Aubrey cut them off.
Did they? River thought. If they were a worse person, they would have asked it out loud. Aubrey’s idea of “deserving it” was fairly wide, up to and including “winning at cards” and “not drinking when everyone else was.”
“They’ll get over it,” River said instead, trying to be reassuring. Scowling, Aubrey swung their coat off the rack and over their shoulders; River sighed, following the trail of bloody footsteps out of the foyer.
It led River up the main staircase and down a long hallway full of portraits. The apartment traditionally allotted to the sitting Senator Gale’s consort was down here—River didn’t even try the button to open the door.
“Max?” River inquired softly. “Are you in there?”
No response came, but the automatic door slid open with a hiss of hydraulics. River followed the light coming from the bathroom, stepping around boxes of classified files. They crept into the bathroom slowly, trying to steel themself for whatever they were about to see. Whatever they had expected, the scene before them wasn’t it; River gasped, an involuntary intake of air.
Max sat on the counter, bleeding like mad from a network of slices through their shoulder and bicep; something critical must have been ruptured, because the sheer quantity of blood—running down Max’s arm, dripping off their fingertips, pooling on the marble surface—seemed absurd, approaching dangerous. With great care, Max was sanitising a set of suture equipment—curved needle, toothed forceps, needle holder—calm as anything.
Even without the open wound, they would have looked like hell—the purple shadows under their eyes could have been bruises, they were so dark. Nevertheless when Max looked up and saw River, something in their eyes softened.
“Are you…all right, there?” River hazarded, overcome with relief to find them mostly uninjured.
Max shrugged with the shoulder not currently emptying their lifeblood onto the floor of the bathroom. “I’m not about to go into hypovolemic shock, if that’s what you’re asking.”
River seriously doubted that, but okay. “And other than that?”
“They’ll make me deploy anyways—liftoff is in eighteen hours. How much did you hear?” Max inquired, setting down the alcohol pad and unzipping their blue fatigues to the waist. They slipped their wiry arms out of their sleeves, leaving them nearly bare-chested save for their compression top—that wasn’t what River was focusing on, though.
No, what River was focused on the most was Max’s tattoos. They had known about the Marines insignia, of course, but this was different. The ink sketched across their clavicle and down onto their ribcage, branching over their shoulders and skimming their biceps. Here and there, River could pick out recognisable symbols; a Han dynasty dagger-axe over their sternum,[3] a polar bear on their shoulder blade, the soft ebb and flow of Eridanus along their rib cage.
“Didn’t hear much. Just shouting from my office—I was concerned. Came down when I heard the glass shatter.”
Max winced—it could have been the alcohol they were using to clean out their shoulder, of course, but River somehow doubted it. “So you got the gist, then. I’m terribly sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be the one apologising.” Suddenly, River was overcome with a wave of grief. They missed Aubrey—the one they had known before Kali died. The one who made really bad puns just to see River smile. The one who sang little made-up songs to Kasha. The one who sent anyone and everyone home from Songshu with baked goods, even if Aubrey hated that person, because “literally what the hell else am I going to do with these.” The ghost of the person Aubrey had been before they snapped under the weight of Senatorhood was nearly in the room with them, so vivid were the memories; where had they gone?
Max’s voice was carefully neutral, at complete odds with their words. “Well, you know how this marriage was arranged; I’m meant to kill them if they fuck up the deal. I don’t have any right to complain. I’m just another albatross.”
River hadn’t known. “Sorry, you—what?”
“That’s why it was me instead of anyone else affiliated with House Song. Who got married to Aubrey, I mean.” With great care, Max began working the curved needle through the network of breaks in their skin, pausing to wipe away blood whenever it beaded up. River flinched.
“For fuck’s sake, Max. Let me do that.” Without waiting for an answer, River crossed the room and gently took the needle holder from Max’s hands, the curved needle still locked in its grip. “What do you mean, you’re meant to kill them?”
“It was a stipulation of the marriage contract, the one brokered between Song and Kali.” Max explained. They wouldn’t look at River. “It laid out that, should Aubrey fail to uphold their end of the bargain, I would kill them. It’s Aubrey; yes, the release of the video embarrasses them and keeps Song’s criminal activity out of the news, but it doesn’t stop them from turning on the House. If I kill them, they can’t testify. Why else would they set it up like this—a member of one of the best clandestine forces this side of Russia yoked to one of the biggest security risks in the whole operation?”
River felt sick. They had always conceived of Song as a little bit slimy, but reasonable at their core—they had always honestly seemed to want the best for Tharsis. This, planting an assassin in the household of a Senator, was crossing a line.
But of course, that was ridiculous. This was politics. There were no lines.
River tried to steady themself. In, out, knot—in, out, knot. It was easy, if they focused; Max showed no sign of pain or fear.
River’s brow furrowed in concentration as they finished off the last few stitches. “Only a couple more; you’re doing quite well, you know.”
Was it River’s imagination, or did Max’s skin warm under River’s fingers at the words? “Thanks?” Max attempted to joke, halfway to a smile.
River pulled the needle through their tissue again and again, slipping the last bit of the cut closed; their bloody work finished, they tied a neat square knot with the forceps, trying to ignore Max’s gaze on them. Christ, but this whole thing was such a mess. Not just today—the whole situation.
To River’s surprise, it was Max who moved first, bringing their hands to rest on River’s shoulders and putting the barest amount of pressure on their fingertips where they were hooked over River’s trapezius. The message was clear—c’mere. River obeyed, stepping closer so that their hips were flush with the counter’s edge.
“Thank you for coming after me.” Max’s voice was strained, as though the admission hurt them, but it was all artifice. River was oddly touched.
“Don’t mention it.” The words came out of River’s mouth before they could stop them. “They’re not a bad person, you know.” River braced for impact; if the positions were reversed, and Max was defending the person who’d pushed River through a plate-glass wall, River would have stormed out here and now.
Instead, Max just sighed, their smile wry and rueful. “Yes; another tragedy of the Tharsese senatorial system.” They were quiet for a long time, staring into the middle distance.
Unwilling to be the one to break the silence, River traced the outline of the axe at the top of Max’s sternum with the tip of their bloodstained finger. It felt like a blessing, seeing them like this, intimate and unguarded—River could get used to it.
“Run away with me.” River entreated them. “Let’s just go—fake our deaths and run away to Europa. It’s not like—“
They stopped abruptly. They were going to say it’s not like anyone would miss us, but that wasn’t true. Max would be missed, at least by Niko. It was only River who would slip away unmourned, unquestioned.
But still. River thought it over for a moment; living in a burgeoning lunar colony under new names, with no one any the wiser to their celebrity status. Getting married properly. A quiet life, filled with good, honest labour and the kind of quotidian happiness that came from being in love. The very idea nearly brought tears to River’s eyes—they wanted it so much it made their heart ache.
Max squeezed River’s shoulders. “River, зая,” they began. “Rechenka. I wish…with all my heart, I wish I could.” They sighed. “Has anyone ever told you about Anastas Tsahar?“
“They were a famous geologist,” River recalled—they had read some of their papers, out of sheer curiosity. “Wrote a breakthrough paper on the composition of Io.”
“That’s part of it.” Max’s eyes were distant; though they were physically on Tharsis, mentally they were somewhere else entirely. “Dr. Tsahar was sent to Io because of something the 4th Clandestine Commandos found while on a mission there.” Max’s battalion—although it would have been before their time. River could see the insignia patch on Max’s fatigues, the snarling polar bear and the lightning bolts flanking it. “There, they met Junjiang Liu.” Max’s guardian.
“The pair of them fell in love; they got married the same day they landed back on Mars. But Junjiang was betrothed to someone else, as part of a deal to save a foundering House. The deal fell through with the engagement, and House Liu was tossed out of the Senate.” River knew the rest of the story from there, at least the dry summary; House Liu had thrown in its lot with House Song, hoping for eventual restoration. But…
“And Dr. Tsahar?” River prompted. “What happened to them?”
Max sighed. “They died before I was born—nobody ever figured out how. Junjiang snapped under the stress—they were probably already going a little bit senile, but it couldn’t have helped.”
Oh, shit. River had seen a portrait of Dr. Tsahar hanging in Junxieku;[4] they had high cheekbones and sparkling black eyes, and dimples that showed when they smiled. Max was their spitting image, despite Dr. Tsahar’s bright pink hair. Though they’d never known them, River felt a strange kind of liminal sadness knowing their fate; did they know, when they married Junjiang, that people would still be dealing with the consequences nearly half a century later?
Christ, but this was all such a mess. There was no way out of it without breaking contract with House Song and nuking any influence House Gale might have once had from orbit; River and Max couldn’t even cut their losses and save themselves. It would all come out somehow, and then where would they be? They were cornered.
Max was tall, even for someone Natural; the low-heeled boots they wore with their dress uniform made them nearly eight feet tall. Still, from this vantage point, they could rest their head on River’s shoulder. It felt like a blessing, to have them this close; slowly and full of trepidation, River rested a hand gently on the back of their head. When they didn’t flinch away, River felt an odd sense of pride, bringing their other hand to rest between Max’s shoulder blades.
They stayed like that for a long time, River holding Max as though they were something precious. This was all borrowed time, River knew.
“Max,” River said quietly. When they looked up, River kissed them before they could lose their nerve. Max leaned into it, for one brief, glorious moment—then flinched back so hard they nearly hit their head on the wall.
River felt awful. “Max, I’m so sorry—“
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…oh, River. We can’t carry on like this any longer.” they said, and it looked like it genuinely pained them to admit that the pair had been carrying on at all.
“I know. It’s dangerous.” The words came out hollow.
“So we’re in agreement. None of this ever leaves this room. We stop here.”
“Yes, I believe we are.” But neither of them made any move to break the embrace—neither of them made any move to leave the room.
“It’s not one or the other, you know.” River broached, ever so carefully—if they were too specific about it, Max would take it as an accusation of disloyalty. “I doubt anyone expects you to keep the faith even when you’re off duty.” The instant the words were out of their mouth, they regretted it. It was like telling someone that their recently severed arm couldn’t have been that big of an issue—come on, buck up, stop bleeding all over the floor.
Max laughed, bleak and humourless. “You’d be shocked.” They tapped River’s shoulder blade once, twice. “C’mon, let me out—I need to get over to Laohu House.”
River let them go, but only reluctantly. “You’re kidding. They won’t make you deploy like this.”
“Again, you’d be shocked.”
“What could possibly be so important?” Against their own better judgment, River grabbed their hand to keep them from leaving.
Max scowled, but the panic in their eyes was clear. When they spoke, their voice was cold as gunsteel. “I can’t tell you. If I do, they will arrest and kill both of us. There will be no trial, no opportunity for us to defend ourselves; we will simply be hauled behind some kind of secret Defence Department building and shot. The American government did it to one of their own, just last year.”
River very much thought they would be shocked. They couldn’t stop themself from wondering what Max’s life away from Songshu must have been like—whole years, lived sub rosa and under oath, eaten by the Law on Guarding State Secrets.
Max sighed. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“No, you’re alright. I shouldn’t have pushed.” It must not have sounded convincing, because Max still looked guilty.
“It’s not alright. I pulled an Aubrey just there.”
Despite themself, River laughed. ”No, you didn’t. If you pulled an Aubrey just then, you’d probably have shouted at me for ten minutes. Pretty sure the mirror would have shattered.”
They would have very much liked to kiss Max, just then, for the sheer pleasure of watching their golden-tan face go scarlet—but no. It stopped here, that’s what they’d agreed on. And all of a sudden, the moment had passed, and a profound sense of sadness had settled itself over River’s heart.
Max squeezed River’s hand gently, pulling them out of their thoughts. “Write to me, will you? I can’t take my personal phone, but I’ll have a government-issued cell; if an email or two from a scientific consultant makes its way into my inbox, I’m sure no one will look twice.”
A smile worked its way into River’s lips, just barely. “Of course.” It wasn’t a perfect solution; maybe it wasn’t even a good one. But it didn’t change the fact that—legal contracts and oaths to Tharsis and Consul Song be damned—River Gale loved Max Liu, and Max Liu loved them in return.
1Aubrey had some kind of program set up that alerted them whenever their own name was in the news. Apparently, someone had posted a video of River and Max dancing together, making some stupid speculation about Aubrey in the caption. It was at times like these that River thought the Internet was a mistake.
2Aubrey despised any insinuation of their own weakness, warranted or not; it would come down on River’s head later. Max would simply deny everything. They had gotten very good at that.
3Liu (刘) had meant “battle-axe” once upon a time.
4军械库 translated to “armoury.” It was the House Liu ancestral seat; old and stately, full of antique weaponry and stained glass salvaged from the Eastern Orthodox cathedral that had once stood on the outskirts of Tharsis. It gave River the creeps the few times they’d been there, but Max loved it with all their heart.