Trial by Fire - eARC

by Charles E Gannon

  “But secondly, the bigger multimillennia context should prompt us to ask this. What other ancient agendas, animosities, initiatives might be in play here? To us, it is all terrifyingly and wondrously new. But to the Dornaani, the Ktor, the Slaas, and maybe the Arat Kur? And maybe even the natives of DeePeeThree? Richard, we have fallen into the common trap of seeing ourselves at the center of the universe: all that goes on around us somehow has us as its subject and raison d’etre. But in reality, all the events, all the plans, all the acts we interpret as intentionally malign—or benign—to us may, in fact, have almost nothing to do with our species. Or, in the case of the Arat Kur, have nothing to do with us as we are now.”

  Downing imagined Nolan’s ghost grinning at him over Caine’s shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘as we are now’?”

  “I mean, as Earth-born humans who, after five thousand years of relatively intact and complete history, are the brand-spanking-new entrants into the cosmos. But others in that cosmos might recollect some other batch of humans that was grabbed off Earth, bred for purposes both noble and nefarious. Some of whom may have been on Delta Pavonis Three, and some of whom may have done to the Arat Kur exactly what the Arat Kur say they did.”

  “And, of course, the Dornaani must know the whole story.”

  “Or a whole hell of a lot of it. And that could be crucial as we try to jump-start the negotiations with the Arat Kur. Because since Alnduul is here with us, that means there’s someone in the room who does know the bigger story. From their own admission, the Dornaani have been Custodians for about seven thousand years, and it’s a surety their histories stretch back well before then. That means that they must have a damn good idea of what was going on in this stellar cluster ten thousand years ago.”

  “Well, since we’ve got Alnduul on board, it will be easy enough to put questions to him.”

  “As if one ever gets straight answers out of the Dornaani. Which reminds me. When the Dornaani made their first contact with you, were they just as enigmatic as they’ve been since then?”

  Downing scoffed. “It was blasted freakish. A message coming out of nowhere, tight-beamed at an IRIS-DoD satellite.”

  “Richard, don’t play coy with me. It had to have been a lot stranger than that, given the package they left waiting for you in deep space.”

  Oh damn. He’s figured it out…

  Caine nodded. “Because they had to smuggle you the device that you put into my arm on Mars, after those two Russians attempted to ‘assassinate’ me. Which was pure theater, all so you could get me into surgery and slip that Dornaani device into my arm. Tell me, was it Alnduul himself who came to our system, bearing strange gifts?”

  Richard looked down. No use concealing it now. “No. I don’t know if any of them even came within an AU of any of our planets. We simply received a signal directing us to deep space coordinates. We retrieved the device and a few instructions for its implantation and for subsequent communications with them. We learned what the implant did, and set up the eventual rendezvous for the delegation to be transported to the Convocation.”

  “And the device itself—implausibly perfect for your purposes, wasn’t it? Almost like they knew what you needed to make Case Timber Pony work. A secret plan that they should have been completely unaware of.”

  So, you’ve wondered too? “It was as if we had ordered it from a catalog. Case Timber Pony would have been an uncertain—and damned messy—business without it.”

  “Yes, but Case Timber Pony was just one, penultimate ploy in a long string of traps and tricks. If they knew how to provide what you needed for Case Timber Pony, then they had to be aware of the other plans, as well.”

  Downing nodded. “They were. They never mentioned the different plans, but it was as if they had tapped into Nolan’s strategic stream-of-consciousness. If it hadn’t been for their implication that they knew what he had wanted, I would not have approved of the implantation or their other offers to help us protect ourselves in the event that the Convocation went as badly as it did. But try as I might, I’ve not been able to get Alnduul to tell me how they found out about—”

  In answer to a soft knock on the door, Caine said. “Come in.”

  Ben Hwang entered, nodding at the two of them. “Good to see you awake, Caine. How are you feeling?”

  “Just a little stiff, Ben. Thanks for asking. Draw up a chair?”

  “Thank you, but no; I have to get back to the lab. Just wanted to see how you were doing and pass a report on to Mr. Downing. And ask him a question.”

  Richard nodded. “What’s the question, Ben?”

  Hwang scratched the back of his head. “Richard, is it true that we have some new visitors in-system?”

  My, news travels fast. “Yes, Ben. A Slaasriithii ship showed up about two hours ago. The Dornaani seemed to be expecting it, and have vouched for its bona fides.”

  “Any guess why they decided to enter a war zone? I was under the impression that the Slaasriithii are pretty retiring. They were certainly the least communicative species at the Convocation.”

  Downing shrugged. “I was just as surprised at you, but the Dornaani speculate that with the hostilities winding down, they want to be on hand for whatever happens here, possibly initiate some kind of formal contact with us.”

  Hwang nodded. “Any chance we’re going to get a look at one, arrange a meeting? It would be a good opportunity to get some samples of their—”

  Downing smiled. “I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything relevant, Ben. Besides, I would think you have enough exobiology challenges on your hands already.” Richard felt his smile slip. “About which, how’s the reconstruction coming?”

  Hwang avoided Downing’s eyes. “Completed. We have reverse-engineered the original Arat Kur virus that they adopted for their suicide cysts.”

  “Well done. What was involved?”

  “The tricky work was all up front. In order to understand the virus, we had to map the Arat Kur genetic structures. Like human smallpox, the virus mimics natural cells present in the Arat Kur body—the circulatory system, to be specific. The virus actually has almost exactly the same genetic template as normal Arat Kur cells, so the body’s defenses don’t recognize it as an intruder and the immune system’s hunter-killer cells don’t activate.”

  “How had the Arat Kur modified the original organism?”

  “To make it useful as a suicide device, the Arat Kur simply turned off its ability to produce viable airborne infectants and slowed its reproductive process.”

  Downing’s voice was very quiet. “And its broader weapons potential?”

  Hwang studied the floor. “The original virus was one of the most contagious and lethal of all their plague bugs. As such, it was the first they sought to eliminate, which they accomplished almost a thousand years ago. Consequently, almost no modern Arat Kur have any immunities against it, and they have long since ceased retaining any extensive ready supplies of, or production facilities for, the vaccine they developed over eight hundred years ago.”

  Downing kept his voice level. “Total estimated effect on an infected population?”

  “Ninety percent fatalities.” Hwang rose, looking glum. “I’ll have warhead-volume stocks of the Arat Kur virus within a day, maybe two.” Hwang opened the door, nodded. Caine nodded back.

  Richard spoke soon as the door had closed after Hwang. “Actually, while we’re on the topic of the Arat Kur, I’m rather hoping you’ll help us by trying to talk to one today.”

  “Darzhee Kut?”

  Downing looked down. “The debriefing team feels that it has run out of options. Permissible options, that is.”

  Caine was on his feet quickly. “Why? Won’t he talk to anyone else?”

  “Not productively. And I think it’s important you try to communicate with him before the debriefing team convinces Visser or Sukhinin to allow them to use—well, impermissible options.”

  Caine left the room in a rush.

  Chapter Fi
fty-Five

  Far Orbit, Sigma Draconis Two

  Darzhee Kut heard the cycles of sound in his head repeat, welcomed the familiar cadences and tones, told himself he was glad there was nothing to distract his attention from the mostly random waves of submusic that washed over and through his mind.

  A strange thumping rang against the room’s hatch. At first, Darzhee Kut thought the ship might be in distress, that the sound was the precursor to disabling or destruction. But no: it was just a modest, steady thumping.

  And then he realized that it must be a person, requesting entrance, “knocking” on the door. Darzhee Kut roused out of his trancelike stare into the room’s far corner. For many days, he had not heard a knock on a door. When his questioners entered, they gave no warning. They determined when he slept, when he ate, when he was allowed to speak, when not. They arrived at different times, in different numbers, with different questions. And they never, ever, addressed him by name or title, although they often left one of their number behind. He was rarely allowed to be alone. Whether that was out of consideration for his species’ monophobia or to prevent him from doing harm to himself was unclear.

  But a knock on the door. One would not knock unless one was intrinsically conferring the right of choice to the person on the other side of the door, whether to admit the visitor or not. And that meant it was not improbable that, at last, he was being visited by—

  He chittered a permission to enter. Caine Riordan appeared through the opening hatch. “Darzhee Kut,” the human said. It sounded more like a question than a greeting.

  “Caine Riordan.”

  “I am glad to see that you are well.”

  “What you see is that I am alive. ‘Well’ is a more relative term.”

  Riordan came closer. “Did they—the debriefing team—mistreat you in any way. Any way?

  “No,” Darzhee had to admit, “they did not. But I had hoped I might be able to tell you so earlier.”

  Riordan looked away. “I was not able to come before now. My injuries were—severe.”

  Darzhee felt his eye-lenses constrict in concern. “But you are well now, Caine Riordan?”

  The human smiled. “As you observed, ‘well’ is a relative term. I am recovering.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I would be interested to hear of other things, as well. Specifically, there are questions I have pondered these long months, for which I have been unable to deduce answers.”

  “Questions such as…?”

  “Such as how, only a few weeks after the Convocation, Earth already had a complex sequence of deceptions ready for us, and how it was already prepared to wage war?”

  The human leaned his back—carefully—against the wall. “I can’t share all the details with you, but for quite some time, influential persons had realized that it was very likely that we would encounter exosapients and that we might quickly find ourselves at war with them. So, starting about five years ago, serious war preparation began, mostly under the cover of other activities. Antimatter production was increased to ensure extensive operating surpluses. There was a major influx of discretionary funds funneled surreptitiously into the construction of new classes of capital ships, stockpiles of nuke-pumped X-ray laser drones, a new generation of control sloops, defense ships cored out of asteroids, massive cislunar drone inventories, expansion of commando units with zero-gee training, cutting-edge vertibirds and interceptors. It was necessary to establish many of these industries outside our home system. In particular, we developed a great deal of dirtside and spaceside industry in Delta Pavonis, using the system-wide quarantine that was in place from 2118 onward as an intelligence blackout curtain behind which we could conceal these activities.”

  “I suppose that would explain why the Ktoran’s human collaborators were largely unaware of these activities. You are to be congratulated on your talent for deception. We were too often taken in by your ruses and decoys. But the loss of your fleet near Jupiter: there were no decoys there.”

  Riordan nodded. “There couldn’t be. We knew you’d have ample time to conduct post-action forensics once you were in our home system, so there, everything had to be authentic. So we accepted those losses in advance, and figured that the fight-to-the-finish you got at Jupiter would further convince you that our desperation was absolute. And if you picked up any survivors of those craft, that was exactly what they believed.”

  Darzhee Kut bobbed, but there was one thing that still mystified him—had mystified all of his rock-siblings. “These notes ring true and obvious, now that we see how they were sounded, and why. But I am still perplexed: how did your relief fleet know to come to Earth when it did, and how did it arrive so quickly? I remember that you had one shift-carrier—the Tankyū-sha Maru—accelerating to preshift velocities when we arrived in the system. But it only shifted out less than an hour before your whole fleet shifted in to counterattack us in cislunar space. How is that possible? Our intelligence on your shift capabilities is not in error. It takes at least thirty-two days for you to build up sufficient kinetic energy to initiate your shift. How did your counterattacking fleet do it in mere minutes?”

  The human smiled. “It didn’t have to build up the kinetic energy. The fleet was already traveling at preshift velocity.”

  Darzhee Kut saw the answer—so simple, so elegant—with great suddenness. It was as though he had been deaf, but now regained his hearing from this clap of revelatory thunder. “Roof rock. Now I see it. Your ships were all preaccelerated. They were merely awaiting the word to return to your home system.”

  “Just so. We used the same strategy to cut other key communication intervals down to minutes or hours. For instance, when you arrived in Barnard’s Star, you may remember detecting a shift-vessel almost fully preaccelerated, in the far outer system?”

  “Yes, of course. The Prometheus, I believe.”

  “Correct. And when it shifted, it went straight to Ross 154.”

  “Which we sent part of our fleet to interdict.”

  “As we would have, in your place. But that’s why there was already another preaccelerated shift carrier waiting in Ross 154.”

  “And the ship from Ross 154?”

  “It hopped to the system we designate as Lalande 21185, which is where we had stashed all our real fleet elements. The ships and crews you thought you destroyed at Barnard’s Star. That unit—Relief Task Force One—immediately began to load all ordnance and units, and secure for pre-shift acceleration. That was on November 26. They attained preshift velocity on New Year’s Day, and then they waited.”

  Darzhee Kut bobbed. “They waited for the Tankyū-sha Maru, the shift-carrier that jumped out from your home system on the day of their attack. Which must have had a time-based estimate of where your fleet was in Lalande 21185. And so it was able to deliver the message swiftly.”

  “Correct. And when Relief Task Force One arrived near Earth, that started the clock ticking for all the surprises we sprung on you on Java.”

  Darzhee Kut considered. “Even without the Dornaani device in your arm, you might have won.”

  Caine shrugged again. “Possibly. But it would have been a much, much costlier battle.”

  “True. Caine Riordan, I must ask. How many of my rock-siblings in space had their songs stilled by the Final—by their own claws?”

  The human seemed to study him closely. “Less than a dozen of your ships refrained from destroying themselves after the surrender.”

  “Which your people no doubt saw as treachery, as a ploy to lure your boarding teams to their deaths.”

  “Yes, it seemed that way.”

  “Did they not understand that it was not our intent to destroy your people? That, because your computer virus paralyzed our ships, we had no way to scuttle them until after your soldiers had commandeered them?”

  “Some knowledgeable—and calm—people concede that your actions may not have been intended to harm us. But even they do not understand why all the Arat Kur would be so determine
d to kill themselves.”

  “But you do.”

  “I might.”

  “You must! You heard our discussions in the headquarters, the careless talk. You know that we remember your race, and what it did, even if your own people do not.”

  “Darzhee Kut, in the epoch during which you claim your race was destroyed, the people of Earth had not yet even learned to navigate the oceans of our planet.”

  “Then—it may not have been humans from Earth, but descendants of populations taken from there in earlier times. But what does it matter which star the ravagers of my planet were born beneath? Their blood is your blood.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “How can I not? I have seen the pictures painted in the deepest refuge-caves. There is no mistaking the shape of your species depicted as our destroyers, more than fifteen thousand of your years ago.” He stilled his claws. “And now you are back among the stars. But enough of the past. What has happened since you defeated the forces we brought to your home system?”

  “The smaller fleet you sent to Ross 154 destroyed our military facilities there, and then withdrew after deploying a Hkh’Rkh shift-carrier for raiding down the Big Green Main. Meanwhile, the Slaasriithi stepped up pressure along your common border, putting you on the defensive.”

  Darzhee Kut couldn’t decide whether he should be amused or annoyed at the human’s claims. “And how would you know all this? You speak of places more than a dozen shifts distant from your homeworld.”

  The human stared. “The Custodians have been most helpful with intelligence.”

  Darzhee Kut felt a small, coiling worm-twist in his abdomen. “The Custodians are to remain neutral.”

  “Unless the Twenty-first Accord is violated. Which you did. And the Dornaani are too busy to correct all the recent abuses to the Accords on their own.”

  “So you have been deputized by the Custodians?”

  “That isn’t possible, since we were never confirmed as members of the Accord.”