Graagkhruud looked down his considerable snout in such a way that Darzhee Kut felt he was under his gaze as well. “There is no problem here that we could not solve were we not constrained by the Arat Kur rules of engagement.”
“And what would you do if freed of them, First Fist?” asked Darzhee Kut, expecting the Hkh’Rkh would pause briefly to consider tactical alternatives.
Graagkhruud did not even stop to draw a new breath. “Hold hostages. Kill ten of them for every one they kill of ours. Place towns under death-interdict: an attack on one of our bases results in the firebombing of five of their kempangs. They can be stopped and their will can be broken.” He turned to Yaargraukh, whose black-worm tongue had snaked out once, briefly, at the height of the strategic tirade. “Do you opine otherwise, servitor?”
“I believe that the plan may be more easily articulated than realized.”
Graagkhruud fluted the phlegm in his nostrils. “It is well you are Advocate. As a Tactical Leader, you would have only led your troops to death.”
“He has no record of ever having done so in the past, First Fist.” First Voice had emerged from the secure suite in the center of the fuselage. “And for now, he will remain the Advocate.” The spaceplane banked again. The early morning light that came through the starboard windows angled more acutely, disappeared, then streamed in portside as yellow beams. “Pilot: report.”
The Arat Kur at the controls leveled them off. “We have just been redirected to the cargo airfield north of Tasikmalaya, First Voice.”
“We have no need to visit the mass driver, pilot.”
“With apologies, that is not the purpose of our redirection. The airspace security at Soekarno airfield is not yet deemed fully secure. We will land at North Tasikmalaya, refuel, await clearance from Jakarta.”
First Voice’s crest flattened. He looked over at Darzhee Kut. “Hu’urs Khraam assured me that your missile intercept systems would be more than adequate to counteract such attacks.”
Darzhee Kut had a momentary vision—and panic—of the immense carnivore leaning over to devour him on the spot. “I am unable to speak to the First Delegate’s assurances on this matter. Pilot, is there any word why the air defenses are unable to ensure our safe approach to Jakarta at this time?”
“Speaker Kut, the humans intermittently salvo many small rockets—some dangerous, some not—to saturate our defense arrays. Sometimes they do this for no apparent reason; sometimes they do it when they intend to make some purposeful attack. While our point defense fire systems are occupied with these many targets, the humans occasionally manage to launch a high-performance missile that cannot be engaged soon enough and which penetrates the primary defense umbrella. I am told that more air-defense batteries are being emplaced every day.”
And if Urzueth sings true, we will soon have deployed almost all that we have. Who could have known that hundreds of these units would be required for such a small theater of operations?
First Voice emitted a rippling snort: the Hkh’Rkh equivalent of a sigh. “First Fist, we have a firebase at North Tasikmalaya. What is the size of the contingent?”
“Five hundred warriors, organized as fifty troops of ten, First Voice. Twenty Arat Kur in powered armored suits provide heavy support.”
“Is this not also the site where we have human auxiliaries in support of our operations?”
Graagkhruud’s eyes vanished for a second then bulged outward. “First Voice of the First Family cannot mean me to include these beings in my report of our strength in that place.”
“They are assets which relieve our warriors of other duties, thereby allowing more of them to be deployed for direct engagement at any moment.”
“It is as you say, First Voice of the First Family.”
Darzhee watched First Voice’s crest furl and soften a bit. “First Fist, I am not chastising you, but I need complete information at all times.”
Graagkhruud’s nostrils seemed to tremble. “Esteemed First and son of my mother’s father, I live to serve you with honor and distinction, so I plead that you hear me. We must count on ourselves alone in this enterprise. Our Arat Kur allies seem acceptably competent in the distant button-pushing that passes for war between the stars. But they must give you more freedom and more control of the true war: the war on this planet. They trust to machines and hide in their buildings. The humans have not learned to fear us and obey. And they must, or we are doomed. We are too few, even against such weak opponents, if they cannot be cowed into a reflex of submission.”
First Voice gently touched a claw to one of Graagkhruud’s. “I hear your words, but for now, we will follow the strategy we have agreed upon with Hu’urs Khraam.”
“With respect, we are already frustrated in the following of that strategy.”
“How do you mean these words, First Fist?”
“The Arat Kur and we had settled upon maritime interdiction as a cornerstone of our plan. Complete isolation of the occupied islands was deemed essential.”
“And so we had intended. But Indonesia’s self-sufficiency in food was lost when so many of its rice storage facilities were destroyed, first during President Ruap’s rise to power, and again during the outcry at our landings.” First Voice waved a dismissive pseudohand. “We must accept the changed conditions. Such are the vagaries of war.”
“Perhaps not, First Voice of the First Family.” Yaargraukh was still looking out the canopy, as they began their descent, their angle of approach paralleling the southern downslope of Gunung Sawal.
“And how is the loss of human food something other than a vagary of war, Advocate?”
“Because I do not believe that it was by chance that the human foodstuffs were destroyed. It was sabotage.”
Darzhee Kut felt his sensory polyps sag in shock. “But why?”
First Voice’s tone was calm and contemplative as he stared long and steady at Yaargraukh. “To force us to choose between selectively relaxing the maritime blockade or starving the population. By rescinding the total blockade, we must now patrol more carefully, which stretches our already insufficient forces thinner and taxes our monitoring capabilities. However, maintaining the complete blockade would result in famine, disease, and their inevitable sequelae: unrest and then suicidal revolt. The humans found a way to present us with two bad choices. We could only elect to avoid the worst.”
Graagkhruud looked at Yaargraukh as though he were personally responsible. “And so now our security cordon is no longer inviolate. Dozens of their freighters arrive in Jakarta, Surabaja, and the other allowed port cities every day.”
“Any trickle of supplies and insurgents which might somehow slip through our monitoring of these ships’ crews and cargos will be manageable,” First Voice affirmed. “However, the alternative—a mounting flood of starving, angry, desperate hordes—would surely wash over all our guns and walls and drown us in our compounds.”
“Still, I do not like it. It is a suspicious development.”
“I agree, but there is a suspicious development which troubles me more.”
“Do you refer to the mystery ship, that continues to move further out of the system, First Voice?”
“It is a mystery ship no longer, First Voice,” offered Darzhee Kut. “We have identified it as the civilian shift carrier Tankyū-sha Maru, registered to the Transoceanic Industrial and Commercial Organization. It is largely crewed by persons from the nation known as Japan. It is well into the Kuiper Belt now, and still traveling outward at point two five cee. It does not respond to our hails or our offers of assistance.”
“Is it a wreck?” wondered Yaargraukh. “Disabled? Damaged in our initial attack?”
“Unlikely, Advocate. We have detected low, intermittent engine activity. More significantly, though, this ship had already achieved preacceleration and was ready to shift when our first fleet elements arrived eleven days ago.”
First Fist ran a claw down the side of the hairless, almost tubelike snout that was also
his face. “So then it must be a wreck, unable to either shift or to effect a constant course change and return.”
First Voice rumbled. “Probably so, but it is also true that a preaccelerated ship is a perfect courier, ready to shift instantly to some other system.”
Graagkhruud’s crest frisked a bit. “And where would they go? And if they wished to report what the rest of humanity must already know or guess—that Earth’s fleet is destroyed and her surface knows the tread of new masters—why did they not do it when we arrived, or when we first landed? No, First Voice, your dreams are filled with worries already. Do not add this to them. Be assured that this is a matter of little or no concern. If there are humans on board, do not be alarmed that they do not reply. As today’s deadline approaches, do we not have evidence that this race is indisposed to respond to us even under congenial circumstances? So the silence of this ship is hardly a surprise and hardly a circumstance worthy of your worry. After all, we already know the cause of many of their silences: they are cowards and fear to engage us with either words or weapons.”
Yaargraukh eyes bulged slightly. “Peculiar, then, that we should have to be redirected away from our landing site because of an attack by a race of cowards.”
“You know the meaning of my words, Advocate. Have caution your insolence is not answered with a Challenge. The humans are like vermin, like s’fet, darting in to bite us, scampering away under the dung of their cities and jungles because they lack the courage to stand and fight. The same is true of their words: they speak only to lie to us, and they grow silent when they are compelled to make honest responses to honorable questions or offers. They resemble the vile rodents of their own world—rats—and should be hunted down as such. I say again, the time for a moderate tongue is past. Now, the decisive claw must rule.”
Darzhee Kut saw and relayed the substance of the pilot’s warning gesture. “For now, First Fist, your very decisive claw must be strapped in. We are preparing to land.”
Chapter Eighteen
Washington, D.C., Earth
Downing paused by his office’s outer door long enough to switch off the central power and data conduits. As he opened the door and shrugged into his coat, every circuit except for those which monitored the wall-embedded faraday cage physically disconnected from the power grid with a thrunk.
Even before he got the door closed, his palmcom buzzed in a pattern reserved for IRIS-related personnel. He tapped his collarcom. “Downing.”
“Hello, Uncle Richard?” Elena. Sounding contrite. A tone of voice he wasn’t much accustomed to, coming from her.
“Hello, Elena.”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I left with a snide remark.”
“Understandable, Elena.” Nice getting an apology. In this business, he was usually the one making, not receiving them. “What can I do for you, dear?”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about—oh, wait a minute. Is Trevor there?”
“No. He left the office just a few minutes after you did.”
“I see.”
Downing waited, began to wonder at the length of the pause—
“Uncle Richard, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Certainly.”
“Not over the phone. Over dinner. My treat.”
“Well”—he looked at his watch—“I suppose so. Where do you wish to go?”
“Papillon.”
“Elena, that’s in Alexandria, rather off my beaten path. I know you’re fond of the ambiance, but—”
“Well, that’s just it, Uncle Richard. What I want to talk to you about is—well, it’s personal.”
“I see. Well then, yes, of course. Papillon it is. What time would you like to meet there?”
“A little after seven?”
“Can we make it a bit later?”
“Have you tried to get in there recently? They’re so swamped by eight PM, you’ll wait an hour just to get your salad.”
Richard checked his watch. “Fair enough. I’m going to have to step lively if I want to make it on time. See you there.”
“See you.”
As the elevator opened, he checked the IT security protocol update from Langley. They were recommending full surge protection measures from seven PM onward, full shut-down where feasible. Hmmm, expecting a lively night when the Arat Kur realize they’re not getting a reply to their new demands? Downing began buttoning his coat as the doors slid closed.
* * *
As Opal exited the cab with the groceries and prescription vitamins and supplements, she paged her townhouse, activated its welcome protocols, and checked her palmcom: no calls, no messages, or data to any of her accounts. She went up the stairs two at a time, grazed the print-reader with her thumb, inserted the mechanical key, and entered.
—and immediately saw the red light flashing rapidly on the house-control screen, just beyond the vestibule: not a casual message. A high priority send, either from a government source, or relayed through a government server. She plunked her shopping down unceremoniously on the table next to the coat rack and pressed the flashing light to trigger an immediate display.
It was a letter, and it was from Caine.
Opal:
I am being allowed to send a brief message while under direct Arat Kur supervision. It may be the last you receive from me for a while, since I am waiting to board a shuttle that will, I am told, take me down to Jakarta.
I am well. My time at Barnard’s Star was interesting. And my time with the Arat Kur since then has been very informative.
I’m sorry this letter has to remain so general and bland, but I literally have two Arat Kur warders staring over my shoulder as I write it. However, please trust me when I tell you that, under no circumstances, including direct orders from Downing or any other superior, should you try to come to Jakarta. Based on what little I have seen of the planetbound military traffic, and the scant situation reports that my hosts have shared with me, the situation in Indonesia is becoming increasingly unpredictable and violent.
Please please please remain where you are and stay safe. And if you happen to—
MESSAGE ENDS. TRANSMISSION TERMINATED AT THE SOURCE.
Opal stepped back from the screen, realized she’d started crying. She didn’t stop to wipe her face, but slammed open the door into the hall closet. Sorry, Caine. Can’t take your advice. And I can’t wait for Downing to send me off to rescue you, probably with a bad team and a bad plan that’s likely to get both of us killed. Assuming he’d even give me the green-light in time. It’s three to one odds that poor, sweet Trevor is going to get crucified when Case Timber Pony gets exposed while in-country and that you’ll be left swinging in the breeze before I can get you out.
Nope, I’m not waiting. I know what needs to be done, and I’m going to get about doing it. Right now.
Uniform, boots, sidearm went into her gym bag. She wished she had web gear, but she’d take care of that as soon as she got to San Diego. That’s where scuttlebutt said the action was. Lots of boots were converging on that Pacific gateway port, more than remained in the billets there. Lots more. So they were getting shipped out to somewhere in the Pacific, and given what she’d heard in Downing’s office and in Caine’s message, she had a pretty good idea of where that would be.
Pulling the remaining gear out of the closet, she smiled through her still blurred vision. And if you thought I was just going to wait for you here, Caine Riordan, then you don’t know this country girl. Not by a fucking country mile, you don’t.
From low orbit to Jakarta, Earth
Flanked by a pair of combat-suited Arat Kur, Caine waited to board the shuttle while the Arat Kur administrator he had come to know as Urzueth Ragh attempted to engage him in small talk. “I conjecture that you are looking forward to returning to Earth. I know our improvised accommodations cannot have been very pleasing.”
Caine had no intention of replying, but glancing over, saw that Urzueth remained focused upon h
im, evincing the peculiarly canted posture which, in Arat Kur, indicated a resolve to wait. In perpetuity, if need be. Caine relented. “I have appreciated the many efforts you made at accommodating our unusual needs. The representatives of the Homenest have been most gracious.”
“As are you, for saying so,” Urzueth said with the bob that signified more than a nod but less than a bow. “But on the other point, are you not gratified to be returning home?”
Caine considered how to respond truthfully, but not provocatively. “Not under these conditions.”
Urzueth seemed distressed, but not particularly surprised. “I regret that the situation is so—discordant—on your planet, right now.”
Caine was not able to let that blithe euphemism pass unremarked. “I was not aware that ‘discordant’ was synonymous with ‘invasion,’ in the Arat Kur language.”
“Invasion?” Urzueth now seemed genuinely surprised. “It is true we have invaded this system, but not your planet.”
Caine turned to look at the Arat Kur directly. “Perhaps I have misinterpreted the updates from you and Darzhee Kut regarding the establishment of a blockade around Indonesia, your seizure of its mass driver, and the imposition of a no-fly restriction on the entirety of my planet?”
“You are correct in your recitation of the facts, Caine Riordan, but incorrect in attributing the causes. It is true that we imposed the no-fly restriction unilaterally, but we did so in order to fulfill our obligations to the human authorities who have invited us to protect the mass driver from sabotage, and Indonesia from extranational conquest.”
Caine was so stunned that he could only get out the words, “And who invited you—?” before the pressure door into the shuttle landing bay finally opened. The answer to Caine’s half-asked question walked through it.
A slender young woman wearing what amounted to CoDevCo livery stepped into the passenger and cargo marshalling area in which Caine and Urzueth waited. She extended a hand; her voice was soft, almost shy. “Mr. Riordan, I am Eimi Singh. I am here to escort you planetside, along with our exosapient guests.” She turned to Urzueth. “Is everyone gathered and ready, esteemed Administrator Urzueth? We have a fairly tight operational window, the flight crew tells me.”
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