Fire with Fire, Second Edition

by Charles E Gannon

  Yaargraukh made a rumbling sound in his chest like he was clearing his throat somewhere near his lungs. “You are not the first to think it, Caine Riordan.”

  Together, they turned away from the stars and started the short walk back to the intership docking coupler that would lead Yaargraukh into the featureless walkways of the Dornaani station, and ultimately, to his ship.

  As they approached it, the lights in the coupler—a cubical node with hatches on all six sides—flickered once. The farthest door quivered as the explosive bolts ringing it detonated, blasting it away from the coupler and into open space—even as the door on their side of the node failed to close.

  The sudden, outrushing cyclone gave Caine one fraction of a moment in which to think and act. He grabbed at one of the flagpoles before the vacuum sucked him straight towards space. But rather than fighting that outward plunge, Caine struggled to keep his body from tumbling, and to get the flagpole braced across his waist—

  Which he managed a split second before he went through the wind-roaring hole into blackness. The ends of the flagpole caught on either side of the hatchway: the sudden, slamming stop against that life-saving cross-bar drove the air out of Caine, snapping his head and feet forward.

  Dazed, he was aware of a heavy thump on the bar: Yaargraukh had caught it as well, crashing to a halt adjacent to the rim of the hatchway, where the lights of the door’s control panel still shone brightly. Woozy, feeling the pressure soaring in his ears and eyes, Caine saw that the control lights were still illuminated normally: no red failure markers. Meaning that the failure was not in the local control console. Meaning that the malfunction was in a single circuit, somewhere beyond the door controls. Meaning that the safety override, which automatically sealed the hatch in the event of console damage, was still functioning. Meaning—

  “Yaargraukh.” Caine nodded at the Hkh’Rkh’s ceremonial sword, then at the console. “Smash. Now.”

  The Hkh’Rkh didn’t stop to signal understanding: he drew the blade and drove it half a foot into the panel, splitting the metal and spraying shattered buttons and broken switches, which were promptly sucked out into space.

  Then the console’s remaining lights went red—and with a shrill pneumatic scream, the automatic safety override slammed the hatch shut.

  Chapter Fifty

  MENTOR

  Downing knew that standing stiffly with arms folded was not a receptive posture, but didn’t much care as he traded stares with Alnduul. He glanced quickly at Riordan, who was still slumped against the far wall, dark maroon stains around his nose, his eyes fletched with the blood-red lightning streaks of burst capillaries. Downing determined that the time for well-mannered, soft-spoken diplomacy was long past. “Alnduul, we require an update: do you have any more news on the event?”

  Alnduul’s hands were folded and voice was tight. “The other delegations deny involvement of any kind. Except the Arat Kur: they still refuse to reply to any summons whatsoever. On the other hand, the Hkh’Rkh delegation has now accused your delegation of attempting to assassinate Yaargraukh.”

  Opal looked up sharply. “They what?”

  Visser turned a withering stare upon Alnduul. “This is not only preposterous, but a transparent attempt to manufacture an incident in order to—”

  Downing heard where Visser was going, derailed her by interrupting. “Alnduul, have your technicians determined why our coupler’s doors failed?”

  “No, but the chip that monitors the coupler’s functions registered a brief pulse of power in the circuit that triggers the explosive bolts. This was what caused them to discharge.”

  “So there was an overload from some other system?”

  Thandla answered before Alnduul could. “Mr. Downing, I do not think you understand the significance of what Alnduul has just told us. There is no way—there is no physical pathway—for a power surge to trigger the bolts. The bolts are physically isolated from all other systems until their arming switch is thrown. Furthermore, they are insulated from any other charge-bearing systems in order to prevent exactly this kind of failure.”

  Alnduul nodded. “My technicians confirm that the bridging switch to the explosive bolts has not been moved since it was last checked by your technicians on Earth.”

  “So an electric current just appeared in the circuits beyond the gap of the still-open bridging switch?”

  “That is correct. And allow me to anticipate your next question: our station sensors would have detected any attempt to induce current in the line by projecting an electromagnetic or microwave flux at it. No such energy pulse was recorded.”

  Downing nodded, felt cold sweat on his palms. There wasn’t any power surge in Alexandria either, but it was the same species of mysterious failure there, too. And probably the same with Nolan’s coronary controller . . .

  Alnduul was continuing. “Since we cannot identify a system failure of any kind, I have asked the Third Arbiter to provisionally treat this event as an attempted assassination.”

  “Thank you. Does this mean that the Third Arbiter has approved my request that our delegation should now be returned as two separate groups?” Eyes turned toward Downing; he ignored them.

  “Yes, although there was considerable discussion about the political wisdom of acceding to that request. However, your colloquial axiom that one should never put all their eggs in one basket decided the matter. However, I must ask that the party returning to Earth in your own module makes the journey in cryosleep.”

  “Of course, Alnduul. When will we be departing?”

  “Twenty minutes: no more.”

  Stunned stares went back and forth between the other members of the delegation.

  “We shall be ready,” Downing promised.

  “And we shall remain vigilant. I shall contact you soon again.” Alnduul’s image faded.

  “Twenty minutes?” Hwang mused. “That’s not a lot of time.”

  “That’s the idea,” replied Downing. “We don’t want to give the assassins enough time to have another go at us.”

  Elena let out a long sigh. “A few hours ago, I wondered how long it would be before the Accord came apart.”

  Trevor looked over at her. “And now?”

  “Now I wonder how long it will be before we’re at war.”

  Visser shook her head. “Nein, Elena: we already are.” She sent a sideways glance at Riordan. “What happened to Caine was the first shot, I think.”

  “Or just a warning, perhaps?” Durniak offered.

  “More likely a promise of what is to come,” Elena said grimly.

  Visser nodded. “Ja, that is what I am afraid of.” She closed her eyes. “Which means I have failed.”

  Wasserman waved dismissively. “Hey, you weren’t alone here, Ambassador. We all blew it.”

  Caine cocked an eyebrow—which only called greater attention to his blood-streaked eyes. “No, none of us ‘blew it.’”

  Wasserman’s chin jutted at Caine truculently. “Have you seen any other human delegations on this station? If not, then we’re the bozos who screwed up.”

  “No, we didn’t, Lemuel—because we never had a chance in hell of succeeding.”

  Thandla shook his head. “We could have allied ourselves with the Ktor.”

  “Yeah, but would they have allied themselves with us?”

  Durniak shrugged. “They assured us of their support.”

  “Sure they did. But so what? I’ll bet they offered their support to every race they thought might turn against the Dornaani.” Caine spread his hands. “Let’s assume for a moment that the Ktor wanted an alliance with us more than with any of the other races. A crucial question remains: an alliance against whom? The Dornaani? The Slaasriithi? The Arat Kur—who, if they make war on us alone, would get spanked and sent home by the Custodians? An alliance with the Ktor is meaningless because the only real danger to us is the Ktor. Which means we’re not talking about an alliance at all: we’re talking about extortion, a protection ra
cket.”

  “Well,” Thandla shrugged, “that still might have been to our advantage. It might have slowed down the avalanche of events which seem to be overtaking us now.”

  “No, Sanjay, buying ourselves time by masquerading as a Ktoran ally still won’t enable us to close the tech gap between us and them quickly enough. And I doubt we could have conned them, anyway: trying to out-lie professional liars rarely works. Besides, if we were cowering in the Ktor’s kennel, they’d probably turn right around and remove the only folks who might be able and willing to intervene if the Ktor do decide to eat us instead of keep us as pets: the Dornaani and the Slaasriithi.”

  “Who’ve done nothing to help us, so far,” added Visser.

  Caine shrugged. “I suspect it’s in their nature to avoid conflict as long as possible.”

  “You mean, until it’s too late to help,” Wasserman sneered. “And I just love the way they’ve rewarded our fine, upstanding morals. Using your analogy from the other night, we took the higher road and played the part of Churchill: we stood up to the bad guys. Except it turns out that the Dornaani have happily taken on the role of Chamberlain and have hung us out to dry, trying to preserve ‘peace in their time.’”

  “That could be what happens,” admitted Caine, “but I think the possibility that the Dornaani might fail us is a whole lot lower than the probability that the Ktor mean to consume us.”

  Visser’s smile looked labored, broken. “You are trying to be kind, Caine, but we failed. The fault is ours.”

  “Failure and fault are two different things, Ambassador.” Caine leaned toward her. “You came here expecting a tea party and found yourself in a diplomatic death match. It was already half over, with the long-term pros jockeying for their final positions. We didn’t even know the boundaries of the ring, much less the rules—and we didn’t have the power or the knowledge to change the outcome.”

  Downing smiled. “So what you’re saying is, there’s no shame in losing a rigged game. True enough, I suppose. But did we have to lose by such a margin? From a security perspective, we have utterly failed our planet.”

  Caine looked up, spoke slowly. “That depends upon how you define ‘security,’ Richard: do you mean ‘survival at any cost’—including slavery—or ‘living as a self-determining species’? If by security you mean nothing more than physical survival, then you’re right: we failed. We had another option: we could probably have survived as slaves.”

  “Slaves?” Opal sounded horrified.

  Caine shrugged. “If we had to fight off the Ktor alone, I’m pretty sure the endgame would be thralldom or extinction.” He looked around the group. “But if by security you mean preserving our speciate right to what a bunch of guys in wigs once labeled life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, then you all made the best choice you could.”

  Visser shook her head, closed her eyes. “And so that is the report I’m to make to the world leaders: we didn’t like the certainty of remaining alive on our knees, so we chose the possibility of being killed on our feet?”

  Caine shrugged. “That’s the report you have to make, because that’s what we did. If they blame you for choosing that option, then they’re not worthy to be our leaders. And then thank God we were here instead of them.”

  Downing checked his watch. “There are some last practical matters to address. The group that is going straight home in this module will not be going directly to Earth, but out to the Belt for debriefing. Your cryocells will be—”

  Le Mule sat far back in his chair, arms folded. “No way,” he snapped.

  Richard curbed his annoyance. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. But I’ll say it again, with emphasis: no fucking way. When I came on this mission, I didn’t agree to sell my body—or soul—to the guvmint, so they sure as hell can’t keep shuttling me around from one windowless hole to the next. And now cold sleep, too? Why? The Dornaani brought us here without it, so why—?”

  Downing rapped his knuckles on the table: Wasserman flinched, shut his mouth with a snap. “If you haven’t noticed, Alnduul has intimated that he will help us in ways that exceed the comfort level of his superiors. And, possibly, exceed his own authority.”

  “And your point?”

  “My point, Mr. Wasserman, is that putting the passengers in cryocells gives him a much freer hand to help us.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bozhemoi!” exclaimed Durniak. “Truly you do not see? Alnduul has made it clear that he is on our side. So much so that he might do more than just ship us home.”

  “Like what?” asked Opal.

  Downing steepled his fingers. “I suspect he intends to put a covert payload inside our own cargo containers in this module. He can’t put it on the Dornaani ship that is taking the second group to Barnard’s Star: too much chance that his own people will stumble across it.”

  Trevor looked eager. “So you’re saying that he wants our people in cold cells so they won’t see him load the ‘special cargo’?”

  Downing shrugged. “I’m saying that if Alnduul intends to do anything that exceeds his authority, he can’t tell us openly. And if our passengers aren’t awake to see what he does, then they can’t leak any information about it—even to Alnduul’s own people. Plausible deniability, and all that.”

  Visser nodded. “Mr. Downing is right. We shall go into cold sleep at once.”

  Wasserman threw down his dataslate. “Look, you all do what you like, but I’m still not climbing into a refrigerator bound for a grubby little rock in the Belt, where so-called experts will ask us the same questions over and over again. Hell, there’s no reason we can’t go straight to Earth, write our reports, and submit them when—”

  Elena’s voice was quiet. “You know that’s no substitute for a live debrief, Lemuel. And you’re not the only one who wants to go straight to Earth; I’ve got a thirteen-year-old son who hasn’t seen me in almost two months, now. But remember what’s at stake. We might be talking about the fate of our planet.”

  “Look, I don’t have to—”

  “Lemuel.” It was Caine; although his face was still pale, his voice was firm. “The. Fate. Of. Our. Planet.” Then he was staring at the wall again.

  Le Mule looked like he was about to say something, then glowered at the floor.

  Visser rose. “So who is traveling on the module to Earth, and who is going on to Barnard’s Star, Mr. Downing?”

  “Most of you will be going directly to the Belt, where Major Patrone will brief the military authorities. Trevor is one of the two people coming with me to brief the flag officers at Barnard’s Star II C.”

  Visser stared at Downing, surprised. “Who is the other person accompanying you?”

  Opal came erect. Downing was careful not to look in her direction. He looked at Riordan, instead. “I’m afraid that you’re coming to Barney Deucy as well, Caine.”

  Caine closed his eyes. Then he nodded.

  Downing barely concealed his surprise: although battered and dazed, Riordan’s reaction should still have included some outcry against yet another violation of his personal freedom. But silence? Downing had a fleeting anxiety that Caine had been more seriously injured by the explosive decompression than anyone guessed . . .

  But it was time for seven of them to enter their cold cells, and the other three to board the Dornaani craft that would take them to Barnard’s Star. Downing turned off his dataslate. “Any more questions? If not, we should—”

  Alnduul’s image faded back into existence. “All is in readiness,” he affirmed with the slightest inclination of his head.

  Visser stood very straight. “We thank you, Alnduul.”

  “I have done nothing other than perform my duties to you.”

  “Okay, then,” Opal said, after glancing quickly at Caine—a glance so brief that Downing was fairly sure he was the only one to notice it. “Since you’ve only been doing your job up until now, I’d like to impose by asking you just one personal question.�
�� Every member of the delegation stared at her.

  Alnduul’s inner eyelids blinked rapidly twice. “This is—uncommonly direct of you, Major Patrone.”

  “Yeah, well—I get that way when war looks imminent. Which Glayaazh says is not the case. But what do you think, Alnduul: is war imminent?”

  “Major, although I cannot answer that question, I can give a relevant response to an earlier query. When Ambassador Visser asked about humanity’s role in this tense situation, Third Arbiter Glayaazh told her that ‘your role is whatever you decide it is.’ I offer a different answer: ‘You already know your role. You merely need to accept it.’”

  Visser started. “We already know our role in this conflict?”

  Alnduul nodded. “One of you has foreseen it, albeit indirectly.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Riordan.”

  Caine looked up with blood-flecked eyes. “What? Me?”

  “Yes. We have become quite familiar with the transcript of your statements at the Parthenon Dialogues. If I am not mistaken, you speculated that the earliest role of humans might have been akin to the earliest role of dogs. Do you recall the reason you gave for canines’ original domestication?”

  Caine frowned. “To hunt wolves.”

  “Exactly. Which is also a great irony: the most effective protectors—the best wolfhounds, if you will—are often those which share many characteristics with the ravagers they have been bred to destroy. But that is hardly surprising, since—as you also pointed out at Parthenon, Mr. Riordan—one must often fight fire with fire.”

  Riordan shook his head. “Alnduul, I realize that you’re limited in how much you may tell us directly, but are you implying that the Ktor are wolves and that we’re—well, wolfhounds?”

  Alnduul’s mouth half-rotated in the Dornaani version of a smile. “No, Caine Riordan: it is you whose words have implied that. Both at Parthenon and here.”

  Caine looked no more edified than anyone else—possibly less so.