Raising Caine - eARC (43 page)
Read Raising Caine - eARC Online
Authors: Charles E. Gannon
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Space Opera, #Alien Contact, #General
Sleeman stared up at Rulaine, her eyes bright, sharp. “Okay, Major; I’m in. How do I help?”
Her bravery melted the last hints of reluctance on the faces of the other two, and Bannor thought,
You just did help me, Miss Sleeman. More than you know
. “Let’s get to work,” he said.
* * *
Caine tried to eat another bite of the food proffered to him by one of the Slaasriithi who seemed to specialized in harvesting and tending the environment: the pastorae. But Riordan’s shortness of breath made him susceptible to nausea when he tried to eat or drink anything substantial.
Besides, while the food wasn’t exactly bad, it was very strange. The Slaasriithi seemed to have limited nest-raiding privileges with a variety of species: eggs were always on the menu as the protein component. That, and a kind of sardine paste mixed with something that tasted like peppery pickled plums, had started out as the party’s favorite, but soon became cloying. It was a strong, wholly unfamiliar taste and one for which the human palate, and stomach, seemed to have limited toleration.
The easiest foodstuff was a standing tuber that, when boiled, fell into strands not unlike spaghetti squash. It was mild and, if uninteresting, was utterly agreeable to the human stomach. But today, even the smell of that bland dish brought on a wave of queasiness, followed by concerned looks from what Riordan had come to think of as the Three Almost-Wise Slaasriithi: W’th’vaathi, Unsymaajh, and Thnessfiirm.
Seeing Caine’s distress, W’th’vaathi pulled her water-strider alongside his as they began making for the shore. “We are concerned for your health, Caine Riordan. We were unaware that this malady would affect you so severely. If you did not have a filter mask, it might be conceivable. But, never having had human visitors to Disparity, we could not anticipate, and still cannot explain, the severity of your affliction.”
Caine looked downriver. “Nothing to worry about. I’m sure we’ll get to the tower in time.” Since the Slaasriithi had joined them four days ago, the group had closed the distance to the Silver Tower by more than two hundred kilometers, which had required about three hundred kilometers of actual travel. W’th’vaathi estimated that their journey would take another two days, which meant that this gleaming edifice was much, much larger than the humans had originally conjectured.
“We are making excellent speed,” agreed Thnessfiirm, “but within the hour, we will reach a section of the river where the shore drops off sharply to a very deep bottom. We will need to move by boat from that point on.”
“You have boats?”
“Simple ones with sails. We have them secreted at forty kilometer intervals from this point onward.”
“So won’t our travel be faster, then?”
“For some of us, yes. But we have only one boat hidden in each riverside cache, and none of them are large. Most of the party must remain with the subtaxae and water-striders as they make a circuitous detour. This concerns us, since you have insisted upon personally ensuring the security of your entire group.” Thnessfiirm’s tendrils writhed fitfully. “That will no longer be possible.”
Nice to tell me about this now.
“The water-striders are endangered if they enter this deeper part of the river?”
“No, but because of the depth, they must travel submerged.” Thnessfiirm’s sensor-cluster-head wobbled meaningfully in the direction of two of the other water-striders with riders perched upon their backs. “Clearly, that would not be suitable for you.”
Clearly.
“Then I suppose I must—”
Thnessfiirm’s neck snapped rigidly erect; so had W’th’vaathi’s. Unsymaajh, whose water-strider had already deposited his passengers on the shore, was not in sight. The rest of the Slaasriithi ceased whatever they were doing, gazed skyward slowly, uncertainly.
Caine frowned. “What is—?”
But Thnessfiirm was grabbing handfuls of the water-strider’s pelt and pulling it in the direction of the shore. “Caine Riordan—we must hide.”
“Why?”
“Sporefall. The defense spheres have sent a warning packet that caused the spore layers above us to rain—well, sleet—down warning microbes.”
The other humans on the strider with him—Xue, Salunke, and Eid—sat upright; Salunke unslung a rifle; technically, it was her watch.
“Hiding will not help us, or you,” Caine started to explain.
“Perhaps, but being trapped in the middle of the river is not how we should face this threat.”
Well, there was no arguing that. As the water-striders made their way up the bank in close formation, Riordan was near enough to call over to W’th’vaathi. “You must contact the Silver Tower. We will not be able to flee from these attackers.”
“How can you be certain of this, Caine Riordan?” she asked as the various passengers began dismounting from the lowering backs of the striders.
“Because the attackers will quickly discern where to commence their search. Given the scarcity of metal objects on your surface, our wrecked shuttle will show them the start of our trail.”
“But you left no initial tracks that could have endured the rains of the two prior days. And in the river, we leave no tracks at all.”
Thnessfiirm retracted his neck. “Our own sensors would be able to discern the humans’ thermal signatures and outlines as being different from ours. As Keith Macmillan asserted, we must expect no less of the attackers’ sensors. Rather, we must expect them to be markedly superior. Consequently, the humans would leave distinctive signatures unless huddled with us. Nor would such a tactic impede the actions of these attackers.”
W’th’vaathi was silent for several seconds. “You are correct. The attackers showed no interest in distinguishing between Slaasriithi and human targets in space, so we must also presume that they would be equally indifferent to such distinctions planetside. Thnessfiirm, dispatch a
sloohav
to ask the Third Silver Tower to convey helpful technology to us here.”
“What helpful technology it might have is another concern,” Thnessfiirm answered. “And I hope the
sloohav
reaches it in time.”
“We may only do what we may do,” W’th’vaathi replied with a grass-in-the-wind wave of her finger-tendrils. “Now, we must gather the persons who will be going downstream on the boat. Ambassador Gaspard must be evacuated, and Ms. Hirano’s injuries require that she departs also. Your own condition makes it clear that you should be the final human passenger aboard the—”
“No. I’m staying here.”
The three Slaasriithi exchanged another set of unseen glances before W’th’vaathi re-aimed her sensor cluster at Riordan. “You are the second most senior person in the legation, were requested specifically by Yiithrii’ah’aash, and are barely able to move. You must travel with the boat, Captain.”
“And the last word of that argument—my title—tells you why I won’t and why I can’t go with you.”
“You mean the word ‘Captain?’”
“That is exactly what I mean. My primary responsibility on this mission is as the head of security. That means protecting these people, however I can, whenever and wherever that is needed. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Unsymaajh reached out an appealing appendage. “Caine Riordan, you cannot do so effectively. Your breathing is labored, your vitality low.”
Riordan nodded. “I am aware of that.”
You have no idea
how
aware I am of that.
“But there are ways to compensate. For a little while.” He lifted his head, raised his voice. “Mr. Xue?”
Maybe it was something in his tone that announced the change in relationships, but Xue responded, “Yes, Captain Riordan?”
“You gathered together half of the meds we each had in our medkits, correct?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Then I want half of the amphetamines.” The anti-histamines had been exhausted, without effect, almost a week ago.
“Sir?”
“I need to keep going for another few hours, so I’m going to need those pills. Give me the fast-acting formulation with the adrenal stimulant.”
Xue, staring, nodded and hastened to comply.
“You plan on modifying your metabolism to function at a higher level?” W’th’vaathi asked.
I’m taking the pills to keep functioning at all
, was what Riordan thought. But he said: “Yes, as needed. Now, instead of me on the boat, you’re going to take Dr. Hwang.”
Ben was close enough to hear and to shout a negation.
Which Riordan did not let him complete. “Dr. Hwang, this is an order, not a suggestion. In my role as head of legation security, I am instructing you to accompany W’th’vaathi downriver in the boat. You will not turn back, you will not delay the journey. You will do only one thing: make best time for the Third Silver Tower.”
Hwang’s face seemed to be crumbling. “Riordan—Caine—don’t do—”
“Ben, my order is not based on sentiment, but cold-blooded logic. Gaspard is going to need your xenobiological insights during his conversations and negotiations with the Slaasriithi. We suspected as much from the start. Now it’s a clear imperative. And you are still nursing visceral trauma from the crash. The decision is made: you’re going.”
Gaspard passed by, glancing at both men. “No cause for regret, Dr. Hwang. We will not last much longer than Captain Riordan. We shall be in a boat upon a river: the only manufactured object in hundreds of kilometers and leaving a wide wake.” Gaspard snorted his grim resolve. “As soon as the attackers are done here, they will see and come for us.” He shrugged. “That is why I have granted Ms. Veriden’s request to remain here. Not only is the boat already full, but she is a fighter by nature. She no doubt prefers to meet her end on this battlefield.”
Riordan shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
“Captain, your courage does you credit, but the stand you mean to make here—”
“Is the lesser half of my overall plan, Ambassador.” Again, Riordan called over his shoulder. “Qwara?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“When we were lightening our load a week ago, how many of the pony-tanks did we keep?”
“Uh, three—no: four, sir.”
Caine smiled. “Good. We’re set, then.”
Gaspard shook his head. “And those tanks will magically ensure that our plans are ‘set’?”
Caine smiled wider. “They most certainly will. Now, here’s what we do—”
Chapter Forty-Three
Approaching and making planet-fall; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)
The Slaasriithi cannonball did exactly what Nezdeh and Idrem had predicted. As it swung around the planetary horizon, it boosted into a shallow slingshot assist that helped it hurtle straight toward
Red Lurker
and the armored shuttle behind it.
“The Slaasriithi are predictable, if nothing else,” Idrem observed. He and Tegrese had exchanged positions; she was now the ranking Evolved in engineering, whereas Idrem was manning the gunnery station on the bridge.
Nezdeh nodded, watching her first volley of missiles burn hot and hard toward the oncoming cannonball in the holosphere. “Have they spotted the missile we launched from behind the asteroid fragment?”
“Unknown,” Sehtrek answered. “The Slaasriithi craft has not activated its own arrays, and we have no way of ascertaining how many passive or dormant dual-function assets they have in orbit.”
Which meant that the two minutes of low thrust that had sent their hidden missile into an intercept footprint might have been missed (unlikely) or was deemed to be of secondary importance. There were certainly more immediate threats to occupy the Slaasriithi’s attention.
Lurker
’s relentless salvos of rail-gun-propelled flechette canisters kept the oncoming enemy craft bracketed in an ever-more constricted approach trajectory. Nezdeh’s current flight of missiles were rushing along that trajectory toward a head-on intercept. “Idrem, illuminate one seeker head among our missiles.”
“In order to acquire a remote lock on the cannonball for our lasers and rail-gun?”
Nezdeh smiled: what a relief to have Idrem at gunnery. “Exactly. Fire a full flight of penetrators on that lock.”
“So I presumed; to sneak in behind the missiles’ sensor signatures. The lasers?”
“Hold them: I do not want them to point back to our precise position.” Beams, more than any other weapons, had the unfortunate consequence of providing their targets with a reciprocal lock on their attackers.
“Understood. Rail gun firing.”
“Has the cannonball fired upon the lead, seeking missile?”
“Not yet. The enemy will probably deny us a reciprocal lock upon its own lasers until the last possible second, in order to close the range.”
“Of course. The cannonball presumes only brief survival, so it will endeavor to remain out of lock until it is close enough to inflict significant damage.”
Idrem nodded, highlighted the position of their formerly concealed missile; it was now coasting into the projected engagement envelope. “There is still no indication that the enemy has targeted our first missile, either. It may be that their sensor assets are so limited that they cannot establish an active lock on that target. Or, if the system is entirely automated, it may have dropped our missile from high priority tracking.”
Sehtrek nodded. “Such a system might also be foolish enough to dismiss its lack of further thrust as indicative of a malfunction.”
Ulpreln turned to look at Sehtrek. “Could they be so imbecilic, to think that a remote weapon fired from stealth has failed simply because it does not bear straight in upon its target?’
Sehtrek shrugged. “It is quite obvious that the Slaasriithi are not adept at, nor familiar with, war. It is possible, I suppose, that they—” He stared at his board, suddenly silent. Then: “Two small orbital arrays have just illuminated our coasting missile.”
“Respond as we have practiced,” Nezdeh ordered. “Idrem, fire portside laser blisters at the cannonball, starboard side blisters at the active sensors. Ulpreln, evasive maneuvers: the Slaasriithi drone-ship will begin firing soon. Activate all remaining seeker heads in our flight of missiles; set them to relay targeting data to us. Zurur, tightbeam relay that targeting data to our coasting missile.”
It happened with the swift, casual precision characteristic of Evolved professionals.
“One of the enemy’s small orbital arrays has been eliminated, the other damaged,” Idrem reported. “The damaged one continues to scan our coasting missile, but seems unable to acquire lock.”
“The cannonball’s lasers are operating in defensive mode, eliminating our missiles,” Sehtrek reported. “Nezdeh, we are losing redundant targeting data from those seeker heads—”
Which is acceptable because I will not need it for much longer—
“Cannonball now activating its own arrays, targeting our coasting missile—Wait; it is now re-tasking them to quick forward sweeps.”
“It has seen the rail-gun projectiles behind the missile volley,” Nezdeh muttered with a smile. “Idrem, stand ready. Intercept time for our coasting missile?”
“Twenty seconds.”
The thin green tines that denoted
Lurker
’s rail gun rounds began deviating or, in a few cases, winking out of existence. “Cannonball lasers remain in defensive mode against our penetrator rods. It is also launching a missile—no; two missiles.”
“Does it have lock on us?”
“It is trying to acquire, Nezdeh.” Sehtrek’s voice was admirably calm.
Trying will not be good enough—“
Now, Idrem: relay our target lock on the cannonball to our coasting missile and activate both its stages.”
“Complying…”
Out in space, the drifting missile suddenly blazed to life, far brighter than any of the others. A brace of solid-rocket boosters ignited along with its main motor, propelling it forward at half again its unmodified maximum speed.
The cannonball quickly swung some of its sensor assets over to establish a lock on this new threat, which was approaching much, much faster than the Slaasriithi had any reason to expect, based on prior encounters.
“Increase laser fire on the cannonball,” Nezdeh ordered, “and initiate direct fire by the rail gun, one penetrator per second. We must maximize hit possibilities, not damage potential.”
Idrem nodded, his fingers playing across the dynamic control panel like a concert pianist at his instrument.
In the plot, several of the rail gun’s first wave of green tines were still bearing down upon the orange sphere denoting the cannonball. The alien craft jittered and jumped as it strove to remain within its flechette-constricted safe vectors while also evading the steady fire from its primary target; it narrowly avoided hits, but did not manage to fix a lock on the ambushing Ktor missile until it was within a kilometer. One of the cannonball’s lasers finally found and destroyed it; in the holosphere, the dissipating green-dust remains of the rocket overlapped the orange cannonball for a moment—
“Enemy craft has sustained light damage from the rocket’s fragmentation warhead. It is attempting to compensate—”
But the cannonball’s attempt to compensate made it vulnerable to other attacks: a laser hit by Idrem’s constant peppering damaged it further, and as it struggled to correct, one of the rail-gun penetrators hit it almost dead center. The orange sphere in the holosphere dissolved. A moment later,
Lurker
’s lasers, retasked to the PDF role, eliminated the two missiles the cannonball had launched.
“All targets destroyed,” Sehtrek said calmly, almost contemptuously.
Nezdeh did not release her breath quickly, did not lean back in relief. Her demeanor had to affirm that victory was never in doubt, not now, not ever. Because if her crew were to dwell upon the full consequences of failure, those dire imaginings would erode their confidence and performance. Anything less than complete success would turn their faceless sponsors into executioners, eager to conceal their conspiracy against the leading Houses of the Ktoran Sphere.
And yet, without the enthusiastic support of those potentially faithless sponsors, House Perekmeres could not be restored, either in full or in part. She and her crew would remain rootless renegades in a universe where every hand was against them.
But now, perhaps, we are nearing the moment when we may put such grim forebodings behind us.
Turning to Zurur, Nezdeh nodded and said, “Tell Jesel to commence his assault.”
* * *
Jesel sul-Perekmeres glanced at the armored shuttle’s pilot, Pehthrum. “Intendant, start the descent.”
“Do you not wish to strap in, Jesel?”
Perhaps if Jesel had been Pehthrum’s superior in anything but birth-determined rank, the young aspirant to Evolved status would not have been sensitive to the Intendant’s simple, practical question. But Pehthrum was older and more accomplished in every particular that could possibly bear upon the mission, and self-conscious Jesel heard his question as an oblique critique: “I do not wish to strap in, Intendant. Fly this shuttle. For now, that is all I require of you.”
Pehthrum lowered his head in compliance and then lowered the nose of the shuttle, angling it toward the planet’s atmosphere.
Jesel had been expecting the maneuver, swayed with it, used his wrist muscles to keep his feet on the deck. He felt the strain and cursed his geneline—or rather, his lack of one. The son of a jur-huscarl, Jesel had been a child at the time of House Perekmeres’ Extirpation. Under any but those desperate circumstances, his genecode would not have been deemed sufficient to groom for eventual inclusion in the ranks of the Evolved.
But harsh fate had compelled the remaining leadership of House Perekmeres to confer the possibility of Elevation upon him. And what he lacked in genecode, he made up for with boldness and an instinct for dominion. Or so he told himself.
As the armored shuttle leveled into its new course and the fuselage shuddered under increased thrust, Jesel surveyed the personnel of his first combat command. His fellow ’sul, Suzruzh, was strapped in at the rear, ready to lead team three: the assault’s main contact and harrying element, it would locate and engage the Aboriginals. Team two, under Pehthrum, was designated to carry out a flanking maneuver once the target was fixed in place by team three. And Jesel’s team one would be the command and final assault element, ostensibly screened by Suzruzh’s harriers.
The only significant drawback was that all the teams were comprised of CoDevCo’s Optigene troops. The clones were not even Aboriginals, really. They were simply Wildlings: the pristine genelines from which their template was drawn had been artificially constrained and culled, but without the refining, expert touch of a Breedmistress. Unfortunately, the clones had deficits beyond the typical low-born decrements in speed, agility, strength, senses, autonomic muscle control, heightened vascular trauma resiliency, and secretion modulation. They were also utterly without the capacity for innovation, at least so far. Having been recently decanted, they had not acquired any significant diversity of experience, much less consequent skills in problem solving.
According to the fear-reeking low-born Kozakowski, these clones were in fact less responsive due to the tight controls that the Ktor had put upon their training and exposure to unplanned stimuli. The clones knew little beyond obedience yet, but all data suggested that this would change rapidly, and it was unlikely that any of this first group would be safe to leave uneuthanized. The perversities of their early training would scar them, leave them asking too many questions and resentful of the narrow limits of their existence.
That concept, the narrow limits of one’s existence, struck home as Jesel’s gaze drifted back across Suzruzh, whose face suggested that he was waiting for his fellow ’sul to commence the pre-deployment briefing. The two of them had narrow existences, as well. Although no direct mention had been made of it, all of the Ktor knew precisely why such an important mission was being entrusted to a pair of ’suls whose sires had been low-breed jur-huscarls
.
It eliminated the risk of a post-mortem analysis of an Evolved genecode. Although both Brenlor and Nezdeh asserted that failure was impossible and that the Aboriginals would not inflict any significant casualties upon the strike force, the two Srinu had clearly not deemed such outcomes wholly unthinkable. Consequently, if the entire strike team was lost, no Elevated cell samples would fall into Aboriginal hands: hands that might, given time and sufficient resources, begin to understand the genetic changes that ensured the innate superiority of the Ktor.
The same kind of precaution had informed the combat team’s equippage. Rather than being issued the vastly superior Ktor weapons which had decimated the Aboriginal resistance aboard the
Arbitrage
, Brenlor Srin Perekmeres had decreed that the only weapons, armor, and support systems to be used in the assault were those from the Terrans’ own stocks.
This was not merely disappointing; it was utterly depressing. The best weapons in the
Arbitrage
’s original armory—nine point two millimeter Jufeng dust-mix battle-rifles manufactured by the Developing World Coalition—were among the most rudimentary of their kind. There were only four available, and the three Ktor leaders of the raid were grim in their gratitude to have at least that much offensive firepower. The clones themselves were armed with either their ubiquitous Indonesian Pindad caseless assault rifles, or TOCIO’s copy of a widely licensed automatic shotgun designed by a firm called Heckler and Koch. Jesel wished he could have jettisoned every single one of the primitive firearms out the nearest airlock: they would not have been satisfactory as reserve training arms, back home in the Creche Worlds.
Well,
Jesel accepted as he once again became aware of the twenty-six duty-suited troopers sitting in the fuselage of the shuttle,
there’s nothing to be gained by putting off the briefing.
“Attend my words.”
It was a largely unnecessary call for their attention; none of the clones had been speaking or looking anywhere other than directly at Jesel.
“We shall enter the atmosphere of the target planet within twenty minutes. We should be over the target zone within forty minutes. Our first pass will be to seed quadrotor sensor platforms that will scan the surrounding area for vehicles the enemy might be using to leave the target zone.”
Suzruzh frowned. “I thought we had acquired a fix upon the targets’ position.”
Jesel shrugged. “Nezdeh received a signal from our agent among them. However, this signal carried no data regarding the composition, status, or numbers of the target low-borns. So it does not necessarily follow that all the targets will be in one location. However, during our final approach, there will be a radio signal upon which we shall orient and so, find an optimal landing zone.”