Trial by Fire - eARC (84 page)

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 contrasting 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 ten 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.”

The translator rendered Apt-Counsel’s voice as a soothing baritone. “With respect, Mr. Riordan, I seem to recall learning that you were involved in combat yourself that day. Even though you were an ambassador.”

“Yes, I was involved in combat—after my Hkh’Rkh ‘guards’ tried to filet me and I had to flee the command center. What was
your
excuse?”

“From what I heard of your conversation with Darzhee Kut, you were attempting to secure further capitulations and seizures of Arat Kur shift-hulls. The more of those which fell into human hands, the greater the peril to our allies and ultimately ourselves. I acted to disrupt, and hopefully defeat, that process.”

“So you took on a combat role without being forced into it or physically provoked or endangered.”

“At that one instant, yes.”

“Sorry, Apt-Counsel. Diplomatic immunity and status is like virginity: once you give it up, you can’t get it back.”

Sukhinin had flushed a very dark shade of red. “
Da
, Caine. This is how it has ever been, as it should ever be. But…”

“But you’ve made an exception this time, haven’t you?”

Visser straightened her five foot, five inches to ramrod attention. “The World Confederation’s Council did not wish to, but ultimately, we had no choice. Ambassador Apt-Counsel-of-Lenses is the only representative of his species anywhere near Earth—”

—so far as you know or he admits—

“—and his diplomatic credentials were among the dozen or so presented to us at Convocation as possible future liaisons. He is authorized to speak for his people, and may thus be instrumental in ending this war, particularly if he can help persuade the Arat Kur that they must concede. We had no choice but to reextend his diplomatic privileges. He has given his word that he will not abuse them again.”

So now he’s
promised
he’ll behave. I feel safer already.
Aloud: “So, now he’s going to help us?”

“I will do what I can to bring an end to these hostilities,” Apt-Counsel supplied.

“Oh, good—because I was afraid you might be here to stab us in the back. Just a figure of speech, you understand.”

Caine had the impression that Visser was going to stamp her foot. “Mr. Riordan, please!”

“It is quite all right, Consul Visser. I can hardly expect Mr. Riordan to feel otherwise. Although, for my part, Mr. Riordan, I am glad to see that you are on your feet and almost recovered.”

“Why? Looking to get in a little more target practice with your trick arm?”

“Mr. Riordan, you may find it improbable, but, since my side lost, I am glad that you survived my attack. I am sorry to have made it at all.”

“Sure. None of us likes failure.”

“No, Mr. Riordan. That is not my reason. I accept that in war there must be loss of life and, often, duplicity. But that makes it no less regrettable. In your case, had you been killed in Jakarta, it would have made no difference to the current outcome. And so, your death would have been pointless. I am glad, therefore, in retrospect, that you survived.”

“How very rational of you, Apt-Counsel.”

“Despite your clearly sarcastic intent, I thank you.”

Always the unflappable, smooth talker, aren’t you, Apt-Counsel? If I remember my Bible stories a-right, some other indefatigable plotter of humanity’s downfall evinced that very same attribute, along with being the Prince of Lies.
Caine turned to Sukhinin. “So, has Apt-Counsel managed to thaw the current state of affairs with the Arat Kur?”

The Russian, his hair streaked with far more white and gray than when Caine had last seen him, shook his head; his jowls waggled to emphasize the negative. “No, nothing yet. He has tried to contact the leadership of the Wholenest. They will not respond.”

“Not even to ask for proof of his identity?”

“No response whatsoever.”

“That is hardly surprising, Mr. Riordan,” explained Apt-Counsel. “Since the Arat Kur have not seen Ktorans any more than your race has, you yourselves could manufacture a device such as my suit to dupe them. And how would they know the difference until it was too late? The Arat Kur seem to be quite suspicious of such attempts at deception.”

Caine kept his focus on Sukhinin. “And that’s it? No other insights from our esteemed and trustworthy Ktoran ambassador?”

“Nothing, except he too agrees that the situation is hopeless.”

“He
what
?”

Apt-Counsel rolled about a foot closer to the platform. Caine watched for the angle of the manipulator arm, saw that it had not been replaced. And saw that the other arm was missing as well: a prudent precaution. “We Ktor have dealt with the Arat Kur far longer than you have. We know their speciate tendencies and characteristics. They do not act or decide rashly, but once they have, they are slow to change.”

Sukhinin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Caine, you know how this standoff must end. Even if we wished to do otherwise—and I do not intend to leave this system until the Arat Kur are no longer a threat—we are under orders from the Confederation Council. The final contingency, which was approved unanimously, is quite clear.”

“Wholesale murder of an entire species.”

Visser closed her eyes. “Mr. Riordan, none of us like this alternative, but we have already exceeded the maximum time allowed for negotiation and capitulation. We must act in accordance with our orders. And as Apt-Counsel has pointed out, we may have less time than our analysts originally conjectured.”

“Oh? How so?”

Apt-Counsel’s voice was smooth and unperturbed. “Your command staff’s assessment on the disposition of the Arat Kur fleet in AC+54 1646-56 presumed that it would either be completely preaccelerated, or completely in defensive station-keeping. We have observed that Arat Kur defense postures are not always so uniform. For instance, the majority of their fleet might remain in a ready posture, but a small number of hulls might be preaccelerated, to function either individually as couriers, or collectively as a small strike squadron.”

“And do we think that a small strike squadron could destroy us so easily?” Caine looked from Visser to Sukhinin.

The Russian frowned and shrugged. “Who can say? And what if the Arat Kur have not used all their drones here? What if some are still hidden, such as we had on Luna?”

“But I thought that the number of drones we destroyed here met, and even slightly exceeded, the numbers we expected to find, based on captured Arat Kur force-deployment rosters.”

“
Da,
that is true. But what if their line commanders were not provided with full accountings of the reserve forces? If that is the case, a small strike squadron could arrive, activate a second wave of hidden defense drones, and damage us so badly that we cannot finish our job here.”