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“Dr. Gale, do you have any idea where the Senator has got to?” Mx Francis inquired, poking their head into River’s office. “I need to ask them something about that press release.”
River shut off their tablet. “No, I haven’t, but I’m sure I can help. What’s the issue?” This was the worst bit of adjusting to new staff, always—yes, Aubrey did disappear for long periods of time; no, River truly didn’t know where they were; yes, River was perfectly authorized to make decisions in their absence, thank you.
“Well, we want to include a photo along with the engagement announcement, but we haven’t been able to find a decent one. As a function of their position, Colonel Liu’s socials aren’t very active; the only photos we can find are either grainy, redacted, or…” Mx Francis had been flicking through images on their tablet while they spoke; now, they flipped it around so that the screen was facing River.
The blood drained from River’s face. “Oh. Have you contacted the Junxieku staff to request the release of a more acceptable photo?”
“Yes, and they’ve not responded to me yet.[1] The wedding’s six months out—should we just cut our losses?”
“Well, we certainly can’t put…that in there.” River said, inclining their head towards the image on Mx Francis’ tablet screen. There was quite a lot of skin.
“If you’d like me to push the announcement back, simply let me know.”
“No! Absolutely not, no. I hate to say it, but I think it has to be this one.”
Mx Francis sighed. “All right.” They cocked their head, considering. “Well, at least now the Senator can’t be accused of not having taste.”
They bowed at the waist and exited, presumably to go finish off that press release. River powered on their tablet, attempting to return to the paper they were meant to be writing—but their train of thought had been diverted entirely. That picture of Colonel Liu lingered in the back of River’s brain like a ghost image burnt into a screen; it really was quite a good photo.
There was an old quote somewhere that defined war as “months of boredom punctuated by sheer terror;”[2] Max found themself inclined to agree. As base postings went, Ganymede was less than ideal; the only things on the moon were an army base and an iron mine. No civilization, no conflict—Max hated to say it, but either one would have been welcome at the moment. At least getting flirted at by cougars passing through security checkpoints on the Moon or getting into gunfights on Enceladus kept everyone distracted.
Unfortunately, it was fairly easy to make one’s own entertainment; at least, if one was an entire regiment of marines with access to the Internet. Which is why Max found the loud wolf-whistling coming from the mess hall just so disconcerting.
“What is it this time?” Max inquired, poking their head through the doorway. Their staff officers were the only ones in the deserted room, all clustered around something; Major Garcia shrieked with laughter, clutching Lieutenant Colonel Okafor’s arm as to not topple out of their chair. Next to them, Lieutenant Colonel Kapoor clapped a hand over their mouth, likely to keep from doing the same thing.
“Colonel,” Major Zhang began, despite the tremor of laughter in their own voice. “Colonel, why didn’t you tell us you were hiding all this under your uniform?”
Max hadn’t fully processed the words before their mouth started moving, entirely of its own accord. “What.”
Still shaking with barely-controlled mirth, Garcia slid their phone across the table so Max could see the image on their screen; Max blushed right up to their ears.
That G-dforsaken photo had haunted them since it was taken. It had been two or three years ago, when Consul Song had put an emphasis on maintaining a neutral, diplomatic relationship with both the Americans and the Russians in the face of the war; Max and a few other Tharsese officers had taken part in a ridiculous American military tradition[3]—while wearing clothing perfectly appropriate for physical exertion, mind you—and invited some press to cover the cross-national bonding activity. Everyone involved had uploaded the photos to their social media, but Max’s post specifically had done numbers for reasons that well and thoroughly escaped them.
“Surely some of that has to be edited, right?” Kapoor inquired.[4] Okafor dropped their knitting and buried their face in their hands.
Max sighed, regretting every single life decision that had brought them to this point. They had cultivated an environment of trust and informality over the years, hoping it would lead to a hierarchy where their officers felt safe coming to them with any concerns they might have, therefore avoiding the worst of the tragedies that could befall a regiment. This had, largely, worked. Unfortunately, Max had also had to learn that sometimes the best way to counteract people who insisted on fucking with them was to fuck with them back. “I don’t know. Why don’t you come here and find out?”
Kapoor stood. Max flexed; hesitantly, Kapoor wrapped their hands around Max’s bicep. Their hands couldn’t close around it—Max watched as their eyes widened and their face went red. “Jesus,” they muttered, and Major Garcia wolf-whistled again.
Max sighed. “Alright, lads—fun’s over. I don’t know where you got that photo, but it needs to be kept sub rosa. If the 23rd ever find it, they’ll plaster the base with it.”[5]
“Forget that!” Zhang exclaimed. “Since when are you marrying Aubrey Gale?!”
Oh, shit—Max had forgotten about that. “Since around a year ago.” they lied, hoping and praying none of their officers could see through it.
“What.” Zhang leaned forward, chin resting in their hand. “Tell me everything.”
“Well, we met almost by chance; ran into one another at Kongzi station,” Max explained. “About three years ago, now—they asked me what I was doing down by the university, and we got to talking. The rest is history, I suppose.”
“You’re kidding me. What are they like?” Kapoor demanded, starstruck.
Max paused to think it over for a minute, trying to come up with a realistic answer. “They’re wonderful. They’re so, so clever—I could listen to them talk about their work for ages, you know, it’s so fascinating. And they’re kind—it’s cliche, I know, but it’s really the small things that are most meaningful. I must be the luckiest person on Mars, team. I’d put money on it.”
None of it was true; Aubrey and Max’s meet-cute had been carefully crafted by the House Gale and House Liu PR teams, edited over and over to make sure it sounded like something that could happen in real life. Max had prepped for this marriage like they would for a mission; all the information the House had been able to glean from Aubrey’s socials had been condensed into a file and a briefing, and Niko had drilled Max on every last detail until they could recite it in their sleep. All this, and they still hadn’t met their betrothed. Very deep down, they wondered if they ever would before they were at the altar.
“Congratulations, sir,” Okafor said warmly, lifting their face from their hands for just a moment.
Oh—right. “Come on, all, let’s stop talking about my personal life before Okafor has an aneurysm about the breach of protocol.” Max poked Okafor in the ribs to let them know they were just teasing; Okafor laughed weakly.
Suddenly, Max froze—something about this whole situation was chewing at the edges of their brain, one of those inherent senses of something is very wrong here that had kept Max alive through thirty years of service. “Zhang,” they started—slowly, as though whatever revelation was about to happen couldn’t hurt them if they caught it by surprise. “Zhang, how did you know I’m marrying Gale? That announcement isn't meant to come out for another…”
Across the table, Kapoor raised their eyebrows. “Apparently, House Gale saw fit to release it now.”
“Motherfucker.” The word slipped out of Max’s mouth before they could stop it; they clapped their hand over their mouth, not out of shame, but out of fear for what they might inadvertently reveal next.
Okafor looked up at them, raising their eyebrows the exact centimetre that meant you good?
Max sighed, flopping down into the chair next to them. “Sorry, all. Just…thrown.”
“Don’t blame you—if that photo isn’t all over the news by next week, I’ll be shocked.” Zhang said sagely, then made an undignified squawk as Kapoor smacked them on the back of the skull. Max sighed, letting their forehead thunk against the table.
“A word of advice,” Zhang continued from over Max’s head, “I wouldn’t look at the comments if I were you.” Max could think of roughly a million things they would rather do less than read what the general internet thought of their appearance, but they appreciated the heads-up.
Garcia, apparently, wasn’t dissuaded. “Good idea, let’s check. Aw, that’s disappointing; whole lot of emojis, mostly. Fire, fire, fire, flushed face, fire—oh, this one’s interesting. ’I’d let Colonel Liu—‘“
Max never got to find out what that random netizen would have let Max do to them, because Garcia cut themself off with a yelp. Though Max was still thoroughly engaged in the study of the insides of their eyelids, they would put money on the resulting scuffle being over the phone; they raised their head and opened their eyes, for the sole purpose of making sure everyone walked away from this accursed unofficial sidebar with all their teeth.
“You’ll be fine; if you can handle Song’s generals I’m more than certain you can handle getting married.” Zhang told them, waving a dismissive hand—and for a moment, Max was in the drawing room at Jade Hill after Kali Gale’s funeral, strategizing with Niko and Guang. They were all exhausted, and Guang was a little drunk; Max couldn’t even blame them. They’d be drinking too, if they had to deal with Aubrey Gale for longer than an hour.
“Aubrey’s going to be hard to convince, but you’ll be fine.” Guang had said, slurring their words a bit. “You’re excellent, even—I never need to worry about you.” They reached down to ruffle Max’s hair, and though Max wanted to push them away—they were forty-one , thanks, and that was ridiculous when you did it to anyone over six—they didn’t; they couldn’t help it. They had always found themself uselessly drawn to anyone who showed them any affection, leaning in like forced rhubarb seeing the sun for the first time in weeks.
Guang laughed, springing up from the couch and sweeping Max into a fast-paced dance—one of the new ones this season, paired choreography from a boy band song that had gone rapidly viral. “All we have to do is carry off the wedding, and all shall be right in the world.”
Something in Max’s heart lurched, unrelated to the dip Guang had slung them into; they could see the skeleton of Guang’s plan, hazy but present. Though they’d never admit it aloud, it frightened them.
It was difficult to be both a soldier and a socialite under ordinary circumstances, and Max’s were anything but. Niko wasn’t married yet—it was more than possible for it to be them. For House Liu’s purposes, nothing would materially change. Really, the only thing that differentiated the pair was Max’s military training. Max knew of twenty different ways to kill someone with nothing but the equipment they kept on their person; Max knew, deep in their bones, that Guang meant for them to kill Aubrey Gale.
Back in the present, Garcia had rescued their phone from Kapoor’s clutches and was scrolling through the comments again. “I’ve seen like twenty people ask if Senator Gale can fight.” They paused, looking quizzically at Max. “Can they?”
Suddenly, the reality of what was happening hit Max like a freight train. “Good Lord, team, I’m your commanding officer. Forget literally everything I’ve said in the past hour. Clearly, I’m letting down the side. Strike it from the record; I’m a faceless robot with no emotions or personal life, et cetera et cetera.”
Okafor sighed, suspending their knitting to move a hand closer to Max’s. “You’re fine. You were caught by surprise—“
“Nope.”
“Any normal person would—“
“Not happening.”
“One freakout in twenty-nine years of immaculate service isn’t—“
“Just let me have this one, Okafor.” When it became clear that Okafor wasn’t actually going to bite the bullet, Max did it themself, tapping them on the back of the hand. “You’re all invited to the wedding; it’s in six months, I’ll send you the details. Your patience has been appreciated. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go send some emails.”
Max messaged their Artemis the instant they got back to their office, bewildered and more than a little troubled. Surely, Niko would have more information on this detestable press circus.
This is a classified channel administered by the Tharsese Armed Forces; please limit communication to official topics only.
Col. Maksim Liu: Did you really authorize House Gale to put a shirtless photo of me in the press release announcing my marriage?
Nikola, Senator Liu: Oh shit, was that supposed to happen today?
Col. Maksim Liu: Niko.
Nikola, Senator Liu: I’M BUSY, OKAY
Nikola, Senator Liu: LEGISLATING IS DIFFICULT
Col. Maksim Liu: This is why we need interns!
Nikola, Senator Liu: Interns are such a security risk!! Besides, do you know how hard it is to get a security clearance for a sixteen-year-old?
Col. Maksim Liu: So is improper communication, and we got ours just fine!
Col. Maksim Liu: This is going to tank my reputation.
Nikola, Senator Liu: It is not going to tank your reputation. I think it’s livening it up a little, honestly. You were a war hero before, yeah, but you were kind of a dull one; this makes you a little more interesting.
Col. Maksim Liu: Thanks, Niko. That’s so nice of you.
Nikola, Senator Liu: Oh, shut up. Look at it this way—all news is good news. People have gotten their names in the press for much worse things than being hot.
What if I don’t want my name in the press for anything? Max wondered quietly. But that was stupid—it wasn’t up to them, not really. They were a member of House Liu—their loyalty laid there, first and foremost. If they needed Max’s name in the press, Max’s name would be in the press; it wasn’t their place to have feelings about that. The honorable thing to do would be to shut up and get the job done.
Marrying Aubrey Gale would be the best thing Max ever did for House Liu. They needed the money, there was no denying that, and Guang Song was anything but impulsive. They imagined that they would work it out, the pair of them; Songshu was enormous, they didn’t need to see one another any more than necessary. If anything went wrong, it was only five years of Max’s life.
Five years. Five years of being watched like a hawk by the press, of trying to pretend they were in love with a stranger, of barely ever seeing their family. It was only five years—it would be all right. Eventually.
[1] Junxieku turned out to be majorly understaffed, run primarily by the medical AI that cared for the senile Major General Liu, the weaponry system that guarded the premises of the estate, and the future Speaker of the House. In retrospect, perhaps River and Mx Francis ought to have cut them some slack. return to text
[2] Max had looked this up, once—they found the first instance in a book of essays debating a war that had happened on Earth. It had been a long time ago, and most of the major players were no longer the superpowers they once were; still, Max had been fascinated, and had rather gone down a rabbit hole. At the time, the West had been so egotistical as to christen the conflict “World War One,” despite it mostly being fought by a handful of insignificant nations on the Russian border. return to text
[3] Every year on Memorial Day, the American military did some kind of stupid memorial ritual called Murph. You had to run a mile, do 100 push-ups, 200 pull-ups, 300 squats, and then run another mile. Max didn’t set much store in it—if people really wanted to help war veterans, they could donate money—but very deep down, they prided themself on having consistently better times than the American ambassador. return to text
[4] Some of it had been, but just to remove the scars and tattoos that littered Max’s body. Max pitied the poor bastard who’d been given that job. return to text
[5] The 23rd Clandestine Commandos did, in fact, plaster the base with that photo—but not when Max was expecting it. Rather, they chose to strike after the wedding, when the 4th were transferred to the Phobos base. There were copies of it everywhere—in every drawer, on every door, even plastered to the walls of the closet where people only went for office supplies or a good cry. The 23rd, Max decided as they ripped a copy of the photo down from the wall of that very closet, (they had gone in for office supplies, mind you, not the second thing) were assholes. return to text