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Trial by Fire - eARC

Page 65

by Charles E Gannon


  The abdominal squirm doubled. “Then you are operating without constraint?”

  “We are, but that would ultimately be your doing, wouldn’t it? We tried—very hard—to convince you that we should be made members of the Accord. You refused.”

  Darzhee Kut let his limbs slump. “When the truth is sung clearly, there are no counterpoints with which it may be confounded. It is as you say: we are the architects of our own problems.”

  “I am glad you see it that way, Darzhee Kut. And I am hoping that you can convince your leaders to see the current situation similarly.”

  “Why? Are we to journeying to meet representatives of the Homenest? And you wish my assistance?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I am flattered, but, in truth, you do not need me. The Homenest’s leaders have adequate translation devices and they will listen to your words.”

  “They have not done so thus far.”

  Darzhee Kut felt the wormlike sensation move up higher, into his second stomach. “You speak as though you are already in contact with them.”

  “We are.”

  The worm twitched its tail as he asked the next, inevitable question, suddenly dreading the answer, on the verge of vertigo, the universe suddenly adrift and unsteady. “Where are we?”

  “We are in a far orbit about your homeworld.”

  Darzhee Kut rose slowly from his comfortable crouch. “That cannot be. By counting meals and sleep cycles, I estimate it has been about ninety-five days since we departed your home system.”

  “That’s an excellent estimate, Darzhee Kut. This is the ninety-third day.”

  “Then it is impossible for you to have reached Homenest, or what you call Sigma Draconis Two. Even for us, with our greater shift range and shorter preacceleration times, it would take much longer to make such a journey. And for your ships, the fastest way to reach us still required nine shifts. The better part of a year.”

  “You know the star charts, and their strategic implications, perfectly, Darzhee Kut. But that is not the course we took to get to Sigma Draconis Two.”

  Darzhee found that the six claws holding him up were tense, quivering. “It is the only one you can take, the only one possible for your technology.”

  “For our technology, yes. For Dornaani technology, no.”

  Darzhee Kut felt the cold floor come up under him, slap his belly-plate. “They modified your engines.”

  “No, just the Wasserman field-effect generator. And they could only do it to certain of our shift-carriers—the Commonwealth, Federation, and Union designs were advanced enough to make use of the greater control and precision of the Dornaani guidance, containment, and navigation systems.”

  Darzhee Kut saw the room again, as if it was reappearing from out of a fog. “So, you made deep-space shifts.”

  “Correct. From Earth we shifted to a deep space site with two carriers—one from TOCIO, one a commandeered CoDevCo ship—carrying nothing but fuel. They served as tankers for the rest of our fleet, which shifted on to V1581 Cygni2.”

  “Which is only eight light-years from Homenest.”

  “Eight point two five, to be exact.”

  Rotting flesh and plague, it is true. Humans are hovering over Homenest. The ravagers had returned, after having repulsed an invasion of their homeworld. Darzhee Kut felt the lower digestive juices rise through the valves that led into his first stomach, clamped them down. “How many ships?” It came out sounding like a pebble-choked gargle.

  Riordan shrugged. “Five shift carriers—two Commonwealth, two Federation, one Union—fitted to capacity with capital ships, ordnance, transatmospheric attack craft, commandos. And we used two of your shift-carriers, as well.”

  Darzhee Kut felt his eyelenses grind against each other until they were a quivering, locked collection of plates. The world was an amber blur. “Two of our shift carriers?”

  “Yes, one of which was your orbital flotilla’s command ship. We loaded it with a mix of our warcraft and yours.”

  “But surely none of my rock-siblings would help you by—”

  “No. The Dornaani provided us with control interfaces. We are running the craft ourselves.”

  Darzhee Kut half-turned toward the wall again. Zkhee’ah Drur the Elder had once observed that while one is yet alive to complain of misfortune, the greatest of all misfortunes has not yet occurred. But this turn of affairs seemed very close to disproving that ancient axiom. “I take it that using our ships has made the invasion of our systems much easier.”

  “Yes, although there wasn’t much of a fight in V1581 Cygni2. Only minor defense elements were present, no shift ships. But lots of useful intelligence. Then we shifted here. That was a sharper fight.”

  “I’m surprised you won.”

  “Well, since your leaders didn’t think we could hop straight into their laps, they kept most of your defense fleet at AC+54 1646-56. That’s the system that controls the route you, and they, presumed we would have to take.”

  “That is only one shift away from Homenest, for our ships.”

  “Precisely. That’s why we had to hit you hard and fast here in your home system. We didn’t want anyone shifting out and calling for help. So we used the ships we captured from you as lures.”

  “Lures?”

  Riordan nodded. “We made it seem like they were still your ships, returning from Earth. Your ships and command personnel took the bait. All but delivered themselves to us on a silver platter.”

  “The story you tell is not possible. You would not have been believed, for you did not have our passwords.”

  Caine Riordan looked away. “Actually, we did.”

  Darzhee Kut rose on his front claws. “They were not stored in our computers, and those of my rock-siblings who had been entrusted with the knowing of them would never have surrendered them willingly to you.”

  “They didn’t surrender them—willingly.”

  Darzhee Kut’s antenna yanked into his carapace reflexively. Sun-timing, blood-drenched savages. “Your race is unchanged.”

  Riordan nodded. “That may be true. But this time, it was my race’s homeworld that was threatened, invaded, fought over. Between the resentment over that, and a widespread feeling that the Arat Kur deserve whatever happens to them, there have been several acts—crimes—against your rock-siblings which are terribly wrong.”

  “And will those who performed these actions pay for them?”

  “Maybe. Or they might get medals. It is too early to say. At any rate, once we engaged your home defense fleet, the battle lasted about four hours.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. We had all your codes and passwords. Also, from your intact ships, we got a pretty complete picture of how you train your personnel, how you fight wars, how you try to trick adversaries, what you fear and how you try to minimize your weaknesses. Accordingly, our fleet was carrying a quadruple load of extremely heavy ordnance, particularly tactical nuclear missiles and nuke-pumped X-ray laser drones. Altogether, it made for a fairly short battle. Which was good, given how close your other fleet is.”

  “And that is why you need me to talk to my leaders. Because despite your victory, you have limited time.”

  “Exactly. If we assume that you, too, keep preaccelerated ships as waiting couriers, then news of the attack here could have arrived at AC+54 1646-56 two days ago. Now, best guess and captured intelligence both project that there will be a minimum two-week delay between the time your other fleet gets the message and their earliest arrival here. Which means capitulation must be secured before then.”

  Darzhee Kut stared at the human. “And why do you think I will help you to enslave my people? And probably destroy them?”

  Riordan rose, came closer, sat within reach of his claws. “Darzhee Kut, I am trying to keep your people from being destroyed. That’s why I need your help.”

  “Your tunes are discordant. If my people refuse to capitulate, it is because they are gambling—
rightly—that you humans will not want to land and fight in our subterranean home. And it would take a long time—too long—to bomb us into submission, living as we do miles beneath the surface. Besides, I doubt the Dornaani will allow that.”

  “Darzhee Kut, everything you say is true, but you must convince your leaders to surrender.”

  Darzhee Kut remained silent, hoped the human had learned that this was a polite rejection of his exhortation.

  Riordan hung his head a moment, and then looked up. His eyes seemed oddly lusterless. “Very well. You’ll need to see this.” He produced a palmtop, pushed a button on its screen.

  Which winked awake, showing four humans holding down a limp Arat Kur, a fifth squirting a mist into its alimentary openings and eyes. It did not seem particularly painful, but the Arat Kur flinched away.

  The scene changed, and a timecode at the bottom indicated that just under three hours had elapsed. The Arat Kur was now moving listlessly, unsteadily, ultimately staggering to a halt against a wall.

  The next scene was arresting. The Arat Kur was writhing in the far corner, chittering in a puddle of its own filth. Its shell was peeling, its eye covers seemed dry and unable to close, and the soft tissue around its mouth had become a faint, crusty mauve.

  Oh First Mother of us all, no—!

  The last scene confirmed Darzhee Kut’s fear. The Arat Kur—now barely recognizable as such—spasmed, shuddered so hard that one of his back-plates sprang free, exposing his endodermis to air, fluid spraying. He shrilled, antennae jerking in and out of their sleeves asynchronously. Then a blast of circulatory and digestive fluids erupted from both his mouth and his alimentary endpoint and he was still. The image froze. According to the timecode on the bottom, eight hours and thirteen minutes had elapsed since he had been exposed to the mist.

  By all Mothers— He looked directly into Riordan’s eyes. “No. You would not do this.”

  “I would not do any of this. But my people would.”

  Judging from the disease-ravaged Arat Kur corpse frozen on the palmtop’s screen, evidently they would. “You recreated the plague.”

  “Yes. Using cyst samples, we reverse-engineered it to its original state. Here’s how I believe the military will deliver it: our fleet would take up station-keeping for sustained bombardment of your homeworld. Ultimately, we will overwhelm your defensive systems. Fairly easy, now that we understand their particular vulnerabilities.

  “In the midst of this barrage, we will seed in some plague rockets with penetrator warheads. Most will explode and deliver the pathogen via aerosol dispersion upon attaining subterranean chambers. Follow-up missiles will probably burrow right in behind them, carrying a payload of microbots which, once released, will carry packets of the disease at least fifty kilometers from the impact site and start disseminating it based on sensor contacts with primary vectors for infection: water supplies, foodstuffs, breeding crèches.”

  Breeding crèches: Darzhee Kut’s second stomach partially refluxed into his primary stomach. He looked at the disease-ravaged corpse frozen like death itself on the palmtop’s screen. “And was it necessary to use innocents as test subjects?”

  The human shrugged. “I wonder if the word ‘innocent’ applies to anyone involved in this war. However, the three prisoners who were subjected to the test were among those who had capitulated on false pretenses, in order to ambush and kill our boarding teams when we overwhelmed your forces at V1581 Cygni2. At any rate, beyond the question of innocence, a live test was deemed necessary by our generals.”

  “And you agree with them?”

  Caine looked away. “I’ve stopped agreeing with any of this—what my people do, and what your people do—a long time ago. However, there is a certain grim logic behind their decision.”

  “Which was to make sure that it worked in a ‘field trial’?”

  Caine nodded. “And there was concern that if your leaders did not receive irrefutable evidence of the disease and its course—precisely how it works, right down to the smallest details of the changes in Arat Kur biochemistry—then they might question whether we had really reengineered it. They could have conjectured that we were bluffing: that we found the cysts, realized what they implied genetically, but were unable to actually produce the pathogen.”

  Darzhee Kut’s claws sagged. The human was probably right. “But with precise clinical observations of the stages of the disease, a genetic map of the virus in all its various stages, and this—demonstration—of its weaponization, then they would know that you had created the organism and observed it through a full course of its life cycle in a host.”

  “Yes.”

  “As you say, I revile the decision, but I fear that your generals may have been right in their apprehension: just as they were ruthless enough to develop and test the virus, the leaders of the Wholenest might well have been willing to gamble the billions of Arat Kur on the homeworld by ‘calling your bluff,’ as you say. And they will discover that you shall do to us what we, in your system, repeatedly refused to do to you—despite the incessant urging of the Hkh’Rkh.”

  “A just remonstration. But here’s a just question for you to consider in return. If your leaders regained an advantage, would they not return to Earth and now do exactly what the Hkh’Rkh urged them to do?”

  “Yes, probably—but Caine Riordan, you must know that I would never agree to such an atrocity.”

  “Unfortunately, you do not speak for the Wholenest, any more than I speak for the World Confederation. We must guess what those above us will do, based on the events and fears which have now accumulated. And I know this. If your fleet returns before you surrender control of your defenses and communities to us, then it is we who might well be destroyed. We cannot expect to gain the upper hand against your race a second time. So our victory must be won now, or become a disastrous defeat, ending in the reinvasion of Earth.”

  Riordan leaned forward urgently. “Even the most moderate of my people are willing to take any steps necessary to ensure that you do not invade us again. Most will simply accept your surrender and sufficient concessions. But some—and their voices are growing louder and more convincing with every passing hour—counsel that there is only one way to be sure.” The human looked meaningfully at the image on the screen of his palmtop.

  The dirt-cursed Hur and their caste-stubbornness! Do they really think that the humans would hover over Homenest with no better weapon than a bluff? “After what happened to the fleet they sent to invade Earth, the Wholenest leaders still will not listen?”

  Riordan shook his head. “They refuse to believe our story of what transpired on Earth. Their answer to the first communiqué—the only response we have ever received from them—was that it was ‘impossible’ that we had repulsed your invasion, and therefore, they suspected that our arrival in your home system was part of an elaborate ruse to get them to surrender when they did not actually need to. They told us they would not respond again unless it were to speak to Hu’urs Khraam.”

  “I am not he.”

  “No, but you are the one he designated Delegate Pro Tem at the minute of his death. You are senior among the Arat Kur who have survived; whom but you may speak?

  “My caste is insufficient. I am but an Ee’ar. They will not listen to me. It was why the Shipmasters did not listen to me when I rescinded the—when I called for them to desist scuttling their vessels. It will be no different here.”

  “You cannot know that if you do not try.”

  “I am weary of trying and failing. But I will try…try…” Darzhee Kut felt his claws, and then his legs, begin to grow numb. It was the onset of fugue-torpor, induced by the emotional shock of what he had seen, had heard. How to explain that to a human? “Depression and mental shock” explained the sensation, but wholly missed the physical inescapability of the phenomenon, once its onset had commenced. “But later. I…am weary. For now. Find someone else. To speak to the leaders. Of the. Wholenest.”

  He turned to the wa
ll, and allowed the cycles of sound to build within his inner ears, taking comfort and refuge in the waves of smoothly repetitive tones he heard/felt/tasted there—since he was now capable of little else.

  Through those sine-waves of solace, he thought he heard Caine Riordan speak again. “Darzhee Kut, if you do not speak, your planet—your race—may die. Please, consider again: speak to your world, to your people.”

  Darzhee Kut tried to listen more closely to Caine, but fell into the rhythm of the soothing cycles, wandered lost among the rolling peaks and valleys of the gentle tones manufactured by self-created changes in the air pressure between his own multiple ear-drums.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Far Orbit, Sigma Draconis Two

  The guard saluted as Caine left the room, then smartly resecured the hatch with the crisp, focused motions of a rating who was being observed during inspection. How the hell do they even know I held a rank? Caine returned the salute, turned the corner to return to his room—and came face to face with Alnduul.

  “It is pleasant meeting you here, Caine Riordan.”

  “It pleases me to see you also, Alnduul. What brings you to the secure section of the ship?”

  “You do, Caine Riordan. It is where I was told I would find you.”

  Ah. “Will you walk with me as I return to my quarters?”

  “I would be glad to walk with you, Caine Riordan, but I bring news that Confederation Consuls Sukhinin and Visser wish to meet with you in the forward conference suite. I hoped we might walk there together.”

  And work a little of that subtle Dornaani discursive magic as we go, eh? “Let us walk, then.”

  As they walked, Caine waited, counting off the seconds. Had he been asked to guess, he would have predicted a prefatory fifteen-second silence.

  Just as Caine mentally ticked off “seventeen,” Alnduul asked, “The Arat Kur persist in their refusal to return your communiqués?”

  “So I am told.”

  “And Delegate Kut cannot intercede?”

  “He does not believe he can. And he seems to have become physically indisposed. I witnessed something similar when he was isolated prior to our rescue at Barnard’s Star. But this time, there was no apparent causal trauma.”

 

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