“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; who 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 wall, 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.”
“I see. And you? Are you quite well?”
“Er . . . yes.” Caine wished Alnduul had asked one of his maddeningly oblique questions, instead. This jarringly sudden—and apparently dispassionate—shift to personal pleasantries made Riordan wonder if Dornaani calm also concealed an almost sociopathic detachment. “You tried talking to the Arat Kur? No progress? Ho hum, I suppose their species has to die, then. Such a pity.” But Caine simply added, “I’m okay.”
Alnduul nodded. “Clearly, the hepatic regrowth agents are proving efficacious. This is gratifying to me.”
“Well, that’s nothing compared to how gratified my people must be that you decided to come to Earth after all.”
“I regret having to deny my intent to travel to Earth after the Convocation, but Mr. Downing asserted that possible leaks in your intelligence structure made it imperative that my visit remain a secret. Had the Arat Kur learned of our presence, they might have become far more cautious. Consequently, the outcome of the conflict might have been far less decisive.”
“You must have brought a fair amount of equipment with you as well.”
“We did, but why do you so conjecture?”
“Well, it stands to reason, given how you were able to accede to our request to give our ships the ability to cou
nterattack the Arat Kur. I imagine that it requires a number of fairly bulky subsystems to modify our carriers for shifts to and from deep space.”
Alnduul’s eyelids nictated once. “Apologies, but I must correct your surmise, Caine Riordan. It was not your leaders who asked for the deep space shift modifications. We Custodians offered this assistance. Indeed, it was one of the primary reasons I was sent to your world.”
“So you didn’t come in the role of a diplomat, but as a techno-military adviser.”
“Let us say my mission was multifaceted.”
“With an emphasis on ensuring that we could adequately defend ourselves.”
“In truth, I was not overly concerned about the success of your defensive efforts. After considerable study, we were confident that, once the device in your arm came within a few meters of a suitable computer, the Arat Kur defeat was certain.”
“So what was your primary mission?”
Alnduul waved lazily about him. “To see to your arrival here. Dornaan wished to be certain of swift success against the Ktor, and this necessitated that we keep our strength massed near our borders with them. The Slaasriithi are not particularly experienced or adept at military endeavors, so it fell to us to provide Earth with the means of sending her most advanced shift-carriers on a strategic counteroffensive into Arat Kur space.”
“And here we are.”
“It is as you say. And our plans have largely unfolded as we envisioned. Your attack has caught the Arat Kur off-guard and they have lost the military initiative. I feel confident that they will never regain it and that you will use this moment to cripple their ability to make war for several decades to come. And it is a near-certainty that, upon learning of the capitulation of the Arat Kur homeworld, the Ktor will propose a truce and the process of rapprochement will begin.”
“Well, let’s hope the Arat Kur will surrender.” Riordan watched Alnduul’s face for any sign of a matching concern, any hint of alarm that the subtle charnel smell of genocide was seeping into the void left by the Arat Kur’s diplomatic silence.
But Alnduul merely responded, “Let us so hope. But regardless, your mastery of the situation is clear and the outcome is certain. And most gratifying.”
“Gratifying in what way?”
“Is it not obvious? Your foes thought to defeat you with surprise attacks and trickery, but found themselves overmatched by your own cunning use of the same tactics. You have indeed proven the wisdom of your race’s the axiom that, sometimes, one must fight fire with fire.”
Caine started. “You used that same phrase, right after Convocation, when you tried to warn me that war might be coming. And Nolan Corcoran used it just after Parthenon.” He turned to watch Alnduul’s features. “I’ve always wondered: did you use that phrase because Nolan had used it in conversation with me, several times before?”
“We Custodians are privy to many conversations between humans. It is difficult to keep track of all of them.”
Caine stopped walking. “Alnduul, don’t play games with me. I’ve tolerated your many oblique intimations and fortune-cookie axioms, but this time—this one time—I want a straight answer. You knew Nolan said that to me right before he died, didn’t you?”
Alnduul’s eyelids nictated once, slowly. “I—we—did.”
Caine spoke through the shiver that had spread cold fingers across his back. “We were alone when Nolan said it. No one else heard.”
“Yet we know.”
“But how—?”
Alnduul’s hand came up. “I answered your question. It was insightful and has revealed much to you. It suggests much more. But I will not answer questions pertaining to our methods.”
But suddenly, Caine was sure. “It was Nolan’s implant, wasn’t it?”
Alnduul’s lids fluttered.
“That organism in his chest wasn’t just to help his heart, was it? It gave you a means of exerting subtle control over him, possibly through timely alterations of body chemistry—”
Alnduul’s lamprey mouth straightened into a ghastly rictus. “We would not do what you imply.”
“No? Isn’t that just the kind of long-term strategy you’d use to control the Hkh’Rkh, maybe even the Arat Kur?”
“Nolan Corcoran was a balanced being and a visionary among your kind. We control only those organisms which we deem, after long observation and innumerable confirmations, to be irremediable destabilizers of their own and others’ environments.”
“Yet you Dornaani manage to get humans to add all sorts of implants to each other, don’t you?”
“Our perspective on these—interventions—is that we provide assistance when it is essential, and only to ameliorate crises that would not have occurred had it not been for our own failings as Custodians. Nolan Corcoran should never have had to intercept what you call the Doomsday Rock. Your planet should never have been left defenseless after Convocation. We attempted to compensate for these failures using the smallest, least obtrusive, methods at our disposal.”
“So you say. And I still don’t understand how the hell you pulled off getting that organism into Nolan years before you even contacted us.”
Their walk had finally brought them into the busy corridors of the command disk at the bow of the shift-carrier. “There is much you do not understand about us yet, Caine Riordan. It is probable that this will ever be the case. We prefer it that way.”
“In other words, you prefer that we humans remain easier to control. Excuse my bluntness. Allow me to rephrase: Our ignorance of your methods makes us easier to ‘guide in positive directions.’”
“Yes, although that is not the reason for remaining reticent in regards to our methods.”
“Then what is the reason?”
Alnduul looked squarely at Caine, who believed he had started to understand enough of the facial expressions of the Dornaani to read this one. A mighty attempt to repress impatient paternalism. “Caine Riordan, you have learned you have a thirteen-year-old son, have you not?”
“I have.”
“And, assuming he has been trained in its use and safety, would you trust him with that sidearm?” The Dornaani’s eye’s flicked down at the Unitech ten-millimeter that had been issued to Caine as a mandatory part of his daily dress.
“Well—if there was sufficient reason, yes.”
“Let us say you had been fortunate enough to know your son as a two-year-old, a ‘toddler,’ in your vernacular. Would you have trusted him with your sidearm at that time?”
“I would have to be insane to do such a thing.”
“As we would have to be insane to entrust humans with all our methods, our secrets, and our technologies. Of course, restricting access to objects does not reduce the curiosity of the two-year-old, nor their eagerness to handle objects that they associate with those older then they—even if told that the objects would be lethal to them.”
Caine didn’t want to smile, but found he couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from rising slightly. “So, you’re telling me not to get too big for my diapers.”
Alnduul’s nose and mouth puckered together in puzzlement, then unfurled into an amused twist. “Beings that can laugh at themselves, particularly their own foibles, stand the greatest chance of attaining wisdom.” He stopped at the door to the conference suite. “Enter first. I will join you shortly.” His mouth still twisted, Alnduul spread his arms very slowly, but angled them toward the human, thereby converting the generic Dornaani farewell gesture into a very personal one. “Enlightenment unto you, Caine Riordan.”
Caine spread his arms in return. “And unto you, Alnduul.”
Whose lids nictated once before he turned and moved away with the strange grace of a flat- (and slightly web-) footed ballet dancer. Caine watched the strange silhouette recede for a moment before turning to enter the conference suite.
The dominant feature of the room—the vast arc of the gallery viewport—was mostly filled with the black of space. The stars were faint against the cont
rasting brightness of Sigma Draconis, which was mirrored in the polished teak conference table and bathed the chrome fittings in rusty gold. In the lower left quadrant of the near-panoramic viewport was a small but bright gibbous ball: the second planet, Homenest. A few particularly bright stars seemed to be in motion around it, all tracking in roughly the same direction: various other ships of the fleet, tucked extremely close to each other, most at intervals of less than a thousand kilometers. The vastness of the room was not only magnified by this window unto infinity, but by the small number of occupants, which left it an empty, echoing cavern.
Caine started toward the two figures situated on a small platform overlooking the observation gallery which followed along the lower edger of the viewport. “Hello,” he called toward them, “I came as soon as I heard you needed me.”
The biggest silhouette turned, revealed its face: Sukhinin. The shorter one beside him did so as well: Visser. And down in the gallery, revealed in the gap between them—
Caine stopped in midstep. “What the hell is that doing here?”
“Caine—now, be calm. We had to—”
The faint wisps of vapor tendrilling off the side of the Ktoran environmental unit looked serpentine, viperous. “I don’t care what you had to do. Get that thing out of here.” Two Marine guards—one Canadian, one US—were also down on the gallery level, standing slightly behind the Ktor. Its treads and outsize water-tank made it too large to fit on the platform upon which the two Consuls stood.
“Mr. Riordan,” Visser’s syllables were Berliner-precise and clipped, “my sincere apologies. We had hoped to get word to you that Ambassador Apt-Counsel-of-Lenses was going to be joining us.”
Caine did not want to move closer—which was why he forced himself to advance down to the droplet-beaded environmental tank. “Apt-Counsel is not an ambassador; he is an assassin. Although for all we know, in his culture, those might be the same profession.”
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