“And there’s another clue that they were spoiling for a fight,” added Ben Hwang. “Whereas every other species allowed some cultural exchange, the Arat Kur refused to share any information about themselves. They gave us no clues as to their physiology, their biosphere, their interstellar distribution, or their civilization.”
At the word “civilization,” Richard saw Elena frown. “El,” he prompted, “what is it? What have you deduced about the Arat Kur?”
Elena shrugged. “I don’t have facts, only a hypothesis.” Silence and six pair of eyes invited her to amplify. “I believe the Arat Kur are primarily a subterranean species.”
Gaspard leaned forward. “Why do you think this, Ms. Corcoran?”
“Because of their idioms. The Dornaani translation technology is extremely sophisticated. Most pertinently, it uses semantic equivalences where it must, but transliterates axioms and colloquialisms that would make sense to the listener. Consider these two expressions from the remarks of the Arat Kur leader Hu’urs Khraam, who stepped in for their senior ambassador Zirsoo Kh’n when the political breach between the Arat Kur and the Custodians became imminent. Listen: ‘Your words dig tunnels in sand,’ and ‘your ultimatum leaves us no middle course: you force us to either scuttle back or shatter bedrock.’ In addition, consider the title of their polity—the Wholenest—and their apparent tendencies toward conservatism, bureaucratic proceduralism, and caution.”
Gaspard leaned his chin upon his palm. “And why would these be traits of a subterranean species?”
“Not just any subterranean species, but one which has achieved sapience. Consider the challenges they’d face in terms of population control, waste management, construction, water and food distribution. They can’t just fold up their tents and seek a better life over the next ridgeline. Indeed, they may not even have a word that combines the concept of being a ‘nomad’ with ‘sapience.’ All the particulars of a subterranean race’s existence would be dependent upon careful, logical, premeditated action.”
Ben Hwang was nodding slowly. “And they would tend to perceive anything less than that as irresponsible, impulsive, childish.”
“Or, possibly, insane.”
Lemuel grinned wickedly. “Won’t they have fun with the Hkh’Rkh if they become allies.”
Hwang frowned. “Just because the two species are dissimilar doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be an effective team. Each has what the other lacks; although Hkh’Rkh don’t evince the discipline and planning of the Arat Kur, they certainly seem to make up for it in daring and decisiveness.”
Gaspard leaned back. “If correct, your theories suggest key features of the Arat Kurs’ basic psychology. That is crucial strategic data.”
“Sure.” Opal stared into space as if she were thinking through the military and operational practicalities. “They’d probably be comfortable for long stays in space. No claustrophobia. Probably have comparatively poor eyesight: invariant light conditions and no need to scan a horizon. However, other senses might be enhanced. Also, I’ll bet they tend to build downward on the z-axis, not upward like us tree-dwellers. And I’d lay odds that their evolution did not include an aquatic phase, at least not as recently as ours. In fact, they might be highly hydrophobic. Underground, water becomes a real threat. Hit it while digging and you’ll kill hundreds, thousands. That also means they’re less likely to be seafaring at an early a point in their social evolution, therefore slower to spread to other landmasses. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they can’t swim, or maybe can’t even float—”
Gaspard beamed. “Excellent. This is precisely what I came to hear: useful extrapolative information about a potential foe. It may all be hypothetical, but it is infinitely more than we had when I walked into this room.”
“While we are on the topic of the Arat Kur,” murmured Thandla, “I have another piece of information I think you will appreciate.”
The group looked at him, surprised—Gaspard most of all. “Dr. Thandla, have your research efforts been shifted to the Arat Kur? I was told that you were working on decoding the ‘child’s primer’ that the Slaasriithi gave us as a means of becoming acquainted with their race.”
Sanjay’s answering grin was very broad. “Oh no, you are quite right. I am working on the Slaasriithi primer.”
“So what does that have to do with the Arat Kur?”
“Everything. You see, the Slaasriithi also used the primer to pass us encoded information about the Arat Kur.”
Downing sat upright. “How much information, Dr. Thandla?”
Thandla looked sideways at Downing. “It is nothing like a dossier, Mr. Downing. It is far simpler than that, almost a puzzle, if you like. Indeed, I only thought to look for it after Ms. Corcoran noticed the Slaasriithi ambassador’s marked emphasis upon the importance of the primer’s supplementary information.”
Downing nodded. “And that is where you found the puzzle?”
“Correct. It is subtle. And quite tricky. Which I think was entirely intentional.”
Gaspard peered over folded hands. “What do you mean?”
“I believe the data was hidden not only to protect the Slaasriithi from being accused of sharing information pertaining to another species. I think their message was also a test. If we did not take the time or were not clever enough to pass that test—well, that served their purposes, too.”
Elena smiled faintly. “So being able to find and decode the hidden message also meant that we were worthy of it.”
Thandla nodded. “Yes, and this is what I found: a single graphic comprised of multiple overlays.” An insanely irregular 3-D polygon appeared on the room’s main display. It looked vaguely like a cubistic python digesting a pig.
Hwang frowned. “What is that? Arat Kur genetics?”
Thandla smiled. “No, it’s—”
“Hot damn!” Lemuel Wasserman’s tone was triumphant. “That’s a 3-D map of interstellar space. Specifically, of the limits of Arat Kur space, judging from the buildup Sanjay’s given us. Which means that all the angles in that geodesic solid must be centered on stars, and the connecting lines between each pair of angles must be proportional to the distances between the corresponding stars in Arat Kur space.”
Downing frowned. “But if you don’t know the distances—”
Lemuel shook his head and rode right over the top of Downing’s puzzlement and Thandla’s attempt to clarify. “You don’t need to know the distances. As long as the proportions are precise, that shape is like a fingerprint. And we know that, somewhere in there, is Sigma Draconis.”
Thandla smiled. “Just so. And here’s the next layer of the puzzle.” Now, at each of the polygon’s articulating points and intersections, a bright star winked into being. Similar bright stars faded in from the darkness within the interior of the shape. Then, the lines joining all those star-points that were relatively close to each other illuminated slightly. Thandla pointed to an orange-yellow point near the jaw of the python. “That’s Sigma Draconis. The stellar color, the angles of incidence and the ratio of the distances to each of the adjoining stars are a precise match.”
Downing folded his hands to keep an eager quiver from becoming evident. “And you know what else those bright lines tell us.”
Wasserman grunted as he started racing through calculations on his palmcomp. “Their maximum shift range. Which will be a value somewhere between the longest illuminated line and the shortest nonilluminated line. Which will be a pretty small numerical range.”
“That conjecture assumes they can’t conduct deep space refueling from prepositioned caches,” Hwang pointed out.
“True,” Lemuel agreed, still hunched over his palmcomp, “but that’s a reasonable assumption.”
“Why?”
“Well, first off, the Slaasriithi would anticipate that question, right? So they’d build a clue into the graphic that some of these lines were not ‘one-shift transits.’ Maybe put some kind of special marker at the midpoint, where the two shifts wou
ld be joined end to end. Secondly, we know that both Slaasriithi and Arat Kur technology are an order of magnitude behind the Dornaani and Ktor. So I think we can project that the Arat Kur shift drive, like ours, depends on stellar gravity wells to function as navigational bookends for each shift. You need to start at one star and end at the other.”
Gaspard had folded his hands. “Mr. Wasserman, it is strategically crucial that we do not underestimate the Arat Kur. But your extrapolation—that they are unable to shift to deep space because we cannot—seems based upon a dangerous presupposition regarding the essential parity of their technology and our own.”
Wasserman’s smile was wolfish. “Wrong—because even the Ktor, who are the second oldest members of the Accord and have had FTL capability for millennia, apparently, can’t pull off deep-space shifts, either.”
Downing blinked. “How can you be sure, Lemuel?”
Wasserman shrugged. “Simple logic. The Dornaani have assured us that they can prevent the Ktor from entering our space. But if the Ktor did have the capacity for deep space navigation, then they could get around the Dornaani by going from one prepositioned deep space fuel cache to another, and show up unannounced in our back yard. And if they did that, then we’d know the Dornaani are liars and wouldn’t support their interests anymore. So, if the Ktoran technology can’t handle deep space shift navigation, then we can be sure as hell that the less advanced races—like the Arat Kur—can’t pull it off, either.”
Downing was determined not to let his admiration for Wasserman’s swift deduction show in his face. “So what can you tell us about their shift range?”
“I’ve run all the stellar pairs that are joined by shift-lines. No distance is greater than nine point five light-years.”
“And what is the shortest distance between any two stars that are not joined by a shift-line?”
“Nine point seven. So their maximum shift range is someplace between nine point five and nine point seven light-years. And that confirms our suspicions that they’re operating at something like our level of technical ability. At least within the same order of magnitude.”
“Equally important,” Downing mused, “it allows us to predict their preferred strategic option.”
“What do you mean by that?” Gaspard asked.
“I am referring to the places they are most likely to attack first.”
“And given that shift range, what do you project as their most likely path of attack?”
“They’d start with Barnard’s Star.”
“And then?”
Downing shrugged. “Why, Earth. Of course.”
Chapter Eight
Washington D.C., Earth
Gaspard stared at Downing with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Why are you so sure they would attack our homeworld—and in violation of the Twenty-first Accord, no less?”
“It is a rather straight-forward deduction, Mr. Gaspard. Firstly, any place where one of their stars is within nine point seven light-years of one of our stars is a possible jumpoff point for a general invasion.”
Wasserman frowned at his palmtop. “I’ve already run those numbers. Unless the Arat Kur were going to take a circuitous route through their most far-flung system”—he pointed to the tip of the 3-D geodesic python’s tongue—“then they’ve got to jump into Barnard’s Star from across the nine-point-two-nine-light-year gap at 61 Cygni. That’s the only place where they can cross the gulf of deep space in one hop, and it brings them right into our home systems.”
Downing nodded. “And Barnard’s Star is also the key system when it comes to isolating us from our best colonies.”
“Okay, I get the danger to Earth,” Opal said with a frown, “but how could they cut us off from all the best green worlds by taking just one system?”
Wasserman’s stylus stilled. “Because all of our traffic and contact with the worlds beyond Alpha Centauri and Barnard’s Star runs through Ross 154. From Barnard’s Star, it’s one shift to Ross 154. Once they’re there, they’ve got the run of our house.”
Gaspard’s faintly contemptuous demeanor had become far more serious. “Very well. So we have some idea of how our most likely adversary would proceed against us. Perhaps it is time to consider other threats.” He turned to Hwang. “Doctor, what have you learned from the Ktor environmental tanks you scanned at the Convocation?”
Hwang frowned. “Not much. Any further conjectures regarding Ktoran biology are going to require much closer analysis of the data. Or maybe better data.”
“Why?”
“Because all we’ve got to go on is respiratory wastes, and those results are inconclusive.”
“What do you mean, ‘inconclusive’?”
Hwang looked vaguely embarrassed. “I can’t tell which are the gases they inhale and which are the ones they exhale. Assuming they breathe at all.”
Gaspard shook his head. “More simply, please.”
“Let me use a human example. If I were to collect the gases you exhale, how would they differ from what you had inhaled?”
“There would be a higher concentration of carbon dioxide.”
“Exactly. That’s the primary waste gas. And there’d be a lower concentration of oxygen, the metabolically necessary gas. And, if I knew nothing about human physiology other than those respiratory gases and the temperature at which we exist, I could be reasonably sure that humans are carbon-based, and therefore, use water as a transport medium and solvent.”
“But with the Ktor—?”
“With the Ktor I can’t tell from the results which gas they need and which is their waste gas. And there’s no guarantee that their respiration is based upon gases at all. They could be metabolizing what they need from liquids.”
“Which means that we know nothing about them, either?” Gaspard asked, his fingers spread wide in frustration.
Downing shrugged. “That’s not quite true. Dr. Hwang’s study of the PSI limits of their tanks indicate that the gases they breathe are at a maximum pressure of two point four atmospheres. Also, there are some brief mentions of the Ktor in the Dornaani self-reference materials.”
Gaspard cocked his head. “But there is a prohibition against sharing information about another race.”
“Perhaps this is a special case, since the Ktor are inextricably bound up in the founding of the Accord. They were the first race that the Dornaani encountered, and had a major impact upon the Accords themselves and thus, Dornaani history.”
Gaspard ran a finger under his jawline. “Did the Ktor coauthor the Accords, then?”
“No. The Accords’ principles were inherited from an earlier epoch that Alnduul has mentioned fleetingly. But the Ktor were the source of most of its privacy requirements. They refused to share any biological information on themselves. They refused to indicate their world of origin, claiming that it was very distant and had long ago become unable to support life. But the most troubling aspect was that the Dornaani were unable to verify the number of systems that the Ktor had settled.”
“Why?”
“Because the Ktor already had FTL capability and refused to let the Dornaani within their borders. So the Dornaani either had to accept their word, or wait for some other race with which to found the Accord. Evidently, the vote to found the Accord with the Ktor was very narrow indeed.”
Wasserman smirked. “You’ve gotta wonder if the descendants of the ones who lost the vote have been saying ‘told you so’ ever since.”
Elena was shaking her head slowly. Downing let his voice drop to a slightly softer pitch. “What is it, Elena?”
“According to Ben, the sensor data indicates that the Ktor must inhabit an environment where the temperatures are so low that any of our worlds—even Mars—would be utterly uninhabitable for them. Which means that Ktor-suitable worlds would only exist in the farther orbits, which are usually dominated by gas giants and iceballs, like Pluto. True?”
“Yeah,” agreed Wasserman, who was watching Elena with considerable attention no
w.
“And how many worlds in those orbits have we discovered which would have seas or atmospheres of the right composition?”
Lemuel frowned. “Three or four—maybe.”
Elena nodded. “So these are among the most rare of all planetary types.”
“Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.”
“Well then,” Elena said, looking around the conference table, “how is it that the Ktor have managed to find so many suitable planets to settle? And why should they give a damn about the expansion of, or even interaction with, carbon-based life-forms? They must know we have no interest in their habitable worlds and vice versa. But the Ktor keep their borders inviolate, and their privacy absolute, so that—from day one—the Custodians can’t get answers to these questions.” She frowned, stared at the far wall. “It sounds to me like they’re hiding something.”
Downing nodded. “I agree, but the Ktor are not our immediate worry. With their prime world located at 58 Eridani and the Dornaani homeworld at Gliese 290, they are both in a different strategic theater. And as Lemuel reminded us, the Custodians can prevent the Ktor from making any incursions into our space.”
“And how can we be sure that they are able to do so?” Gaspard asked skeptically.
“Oh, they have the technological capability, Mr. Gaspard,” Downing answered. “When the Dornaani took Misters Riordan and Corcoran and me to Barnard’s Star, they did it in a single instant, and from a standing start.” He let Gaspard digest that for a second. “That’s sixteen light-years in the blink of an eye, without any preacceleration.”
Gaspard’s eyebrows rose. Hwang whistled long and low. But Elena looked thoughtfully at her folded hands. Downing leaned in her direction “El, you don’t seem to find this very surprising.”
She didn’t look up. “Why should I? The Dornaani have been interstellar travelers and overseers for seven thousand years, possibly much more. And perhaps they inherited technologies from the great powers of whatever epoch preceded this one, perhaps from the same exosapients who transplanted humans to DeePeeThree. Given all that time and experience, what might the Dornaani be capable of now?”
Trial by Fire Page 9
