And now, rising up over the onrushing horizon like brooding entities of destruction presiding over the aerial slaughter, Lemuel could see three mushroom clouds, dispersing but still distinct.
Swallowing, unblinking, he could hear the radio chatter in the crew compartment just behind him:
“What’s the ETA on the fighters and the pathfinder transports in the main wave?”
“Twenty and twenty-two minutes respectively, Skipper.”
“And the follow-ups?”
“Second wave is ten minutes behind them. They’ve got fallback targets if the first bunch secures all the secondary airfields. Which is looking pretty likely.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m getting chatter now from rebel radio operators near those fields. Most of the remaining Indonesian forces there are signaling their rejection of Ruap’s government and allegiance to the Confederation. And we’ve got confirmation of the earlier reports that CoDevCo’s clone formation have deserted en masse: disappeared into the bush.”
“And the other airstrips?”
“No word, although the bet is that their human garrisons are either planning on laying down arms or are already fading into the bush. Probably burn their uniforms and try to act like they never heard of Ruap or the Arat Kur.”
Wasserman was not used to such rapid reversals. This morning, it seemed likely that humanity would be perpetually in the thrall of the Arat Kur. Now, with Java’s secondary airbases all but secured, hundreds of transport aircraft were converging on them to begin delivering the steady stream of troops and weapons that would pour into Indonesia until it was firmly back in human hands.
And then another surprise: over the Bay of Banten, at somewhat lower altitude, there was a blinding white flash.
“Nuke!” shouted Captain Oakley. “Put your tail to it and go, Maretti.”
The pilot complied. About two seconds later, the buffeting hit them. It was bad—Wasserman thought they’d shake apart—but ultimately it left them unscathed.
“Captain, what the hell was that?”
“Not sure, Dr. Wasserman, but I think the Roaches are shooting blind.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They’ve got no computers left, almost no communications, and they’re losing the air battle.”
“So they heaved a tactical nuke into the air on the notion that it would take down more of us than it would of them?”
Oakley was silent, listening to updates in her earpiece. “That seems to be the case, Doc. Maretti, triple the intervals; we’re spreading out.”
To Lemuel Wasserman, war had always been a fascinating topic, somewhat like a game, in which performance statistics and strategies combined and interfaced in complex, competing matrices. But no. It’s just madness and desperation, he realized with a swallow, watched as a few more Arat Kur fighters recovered from faltering dives. But, without computers, and not being seasoned combat pilots, they could not elude or get any advantage over an equal number of Dutch, Chinese, and Swedish interceptors that were on them within five seconds. As the first of the Arat Kur aircraft flashed and then began to trail yellow flame and black smoke, Lemuel Wasserman had a sensation and a sudden desire that surprised him more than the day’s rapid reversals, the ominous mushroom clouds, or the nearby detonation of a five-kiloton nuclear weapon:
Don’t: don’t kill any more of them than you have to.…
Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth
Caine could not be certain, but as the minutes of uncertainty ticked by, Hu’urs Khraam seemed to weaken, as if he were about to collapse. Obversely, First Voice seemed to have swollen to gigantic proportions, loping to and fro, one claw rubbing at the oddly shaped handle of his sidearm.
While Darzhee Kut conferred quietly with Hu’urs Khraam, Urzueth Ragh guided the assembly of a patchwork communications and control system that the Arat Kur technicians were building out of those few bits and pieces that the virus had missed. When Downing’s voice finally emerged from the speakers, Hu’urs Khraam rose up.
“First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, are you reading me?”
“Mr. Downing, we can hear you plainly.”
“Excellent. First Delegate, I’m afraid we don’t have much time left.”
“I concur, Mr. Downing. To start, please redirect your inbound missiles. We cannot intercept them all.”
“With respect, First Delegate, I would be surprised if you could intercept any.”
First Voice literally growled. His retinue stared at him, then at each other, and then placed casual claws on the handles of their firearms. Not promising.
Hu’urs Khraam did not bother to lie. “You are correct in your supposition. And I am mindful that your submarines could do many times more damage before we regain the ability to sink them or intercept their missiles.”
“Exactly. Before you regain the ability. And so, because you almost certainly could regain that ability, I cannot let this moment pass. Consequently, if you do not surrender now, I will be forced to allow our missiles to continue on their current courses, to allow our spacecraft to destroy yours without attempting to commandeer them peacefully, and to allow our inbound ground and air units to carry out their attack on your bases. I reemphasize this so that you know I understand both the weakness of your current situation, but also the advantage you will certainly regain within the hour. I can’t allow you to regain that advantage, so you will understand that I am not ‘bluffing.’ I will act as I have said, without regard to your, or our, casualties—unless you immediately capitulate according to the terms I set forth earlier.”
Hu’urs Khraam looked about the room slowly, as if measuring what to say next. “There are complications.”
“Such as?”
“I cannot compel all my forces to stop fighting. We do not have communications left. Those who are no longer in contact with us will not know to cease resisting.”
“I am sorry, Hu’urs Khraam, but it is just as I warned you during our first communication. The longer we waited to discuss terms, the more needless loss would occur. But I assure you of this. We will make every attempt to spare the lives of your troops. The best way to achieve that is to keep all those currently under your direct control in barracks and unarmed. As more of our forces arrive, we will be able to control the insurgents and send in units to secure you and your personnel.”
First Voice made a sound as though he were spitting out a bone that had gone down sideways. “You will send your forces to secure us? For what reason?”
“To ensure your safety against reprisals by the insurgents. Once in Confederation hands, your troops will be treated according to the human conventions for handling prisoners of war.”
First Voice turned to Hu’urs Khraam. “This conversation must end.”
Hu’urs Khraam bobbed apologetically. “It cannot.”
“You are discussing surrender. You simply haven’t spoken the word yet.”
“I am saving our lives.”
First Voice reared up very tall, his crest flaring dramatically. “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam of the Arat Kur Wholenest, the Hkh’Rkh will have no part of this. I refuse to be present, to be accused of giving even that tacit approval, to your discussion of surrendering to these s’fet. And if you do so, I do not wish to hear you do it. For then I would have to not merely renounce our alliance, but name you as our betrayers: enemies more profound and lasting than the humans. I shall leave two of my retinue here to witness what transpires.”
Darzhee Kut sounded forlorn. “And where shall you go, First Voice?”
“I go where I should have gone hours ago: to the field of battle. Where I will fight, for your honor as well as my own, until I have no kinsmen or blood left.” He pointed a claw at each of the two huscarles who were still just behind Caine and left with the remainder.
Downing’s voice was the first sound to break the silence. “First Delegate, am I to understand that you and the Hkh’Rkh are no longer allies?”
“Mr. Dow
ning, I am uncertain myself. I believe that if I surrender to you, they consider themselves at war with us. At any rate, I cannot make any promises for the Hkh’Rkh. I cannot guarantee that any will surrender. Indeed, if they feel their foes utterly without honor, they may affect the appearance of capitulation simply in order to trick you, to conduct an ambush when they seem to be relenting. I fear that their rage at the insurgents has made them ungovernable.”
“We fear the same thing about the insurgents in relation to your troops and the Hkh’Rkh, First Delegate Khraam. That is why we are sending in our forces to establish control. If Arat Kur do not fire at our inbound forces, those forces will not fire at Arat Kur. I cannot guarantee the actions of the units that began the day already on Java. Their radios are inoperative, and we have only one overtaxed fiber-optic link sending updates to a limited number of infiltration teams.”
“I understand and accept that there may still be attacks on our compounds until you reestablish general communications. And what of my rock-siblings who are operating outside the compounds?”
“Those you can reach should be told to hide, stay put, and to set their suits to broadcast distress signals, if they still function. We will home in on those and presume they indicate the wearer’s intent to surrender.”
“But most of them have lost their radios to the virus or the EMP strikes. I cannot reach enough of them.”
“Those are the fortunes of war. And I am sorry to rush you, First Delegate, but judging from the proximity of our missiles, you have approximately ninety seconds to decide if you are actually surrendering to us.”
Hu’urs Khraam slumped into his couch. “Mr. Downing, you have made the decision for us. We return this place to your control.”
Beneath the Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth
O’Garran leaned back down into the service shaft. “All clear.”
Opal double-timed it up the ladder, pushing back the thermal imaging goggles as she did. There were lights on overhead. She emerged into a relatively tidy subbasement, quickly moving aside so the other thirty surviving tunnel rats could swarm up and out behind her. “No sign of security cameras?”
O’Garran pointed at a human model mounted high in a corner of the room. It was probably thirty years old, and had some kind of Arat Kur relay unit attached to it. “Well, there’s that—but it’s as dead as a doorknob.”
“Unattached?”
“No, that’s the odd part. It’s still warm from current going through it. But its control elements are gone—and I mean gone. I hooked up a loop-generator, so that if the Roaches brought it back online it would keep showing the same boring picture of an empty room. But none of its electronics would turn on.”
“Fried by the EMP?”
“Nope. Its logic circuits carry current just fine. It’s more like somebody wiped the Arat Kur controller that was retrofitted to it.”
Opal nodded. “Maybe someone did wipe its circuit board, and a whole bunch of others to boot.” She turned to Wu. “Anything on the fiber-com about—uh, a computer virus being used against the Roaches?”
Wu looked over the commo traffic again. “Nothing, Major. But there is a garbled mention about a high-priority extraction subject here in the compound: OPCOM apparently has telemetry on his location.”
“Telemetry?” Opal frowned. “How the hell do you get telemetry when you don’t have any satellites left?” Very suspicious. Definitely beyond the capabilities of what little human technology was still functioning in Indonesia. Not necessarily beyond the Dornaani and their technomagic mojo, however. “So, who’s the bag job?”
Wu scanned, read. “The extraction subject is a human diplomat named Caine—”
“—Riordan,” she finished. Oh, there is a god in heaven, after all. Hold on, Caine.
I’m coming to get you.
Near the Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth
Trevor Corcoran looked up the street that ran between the buildings they were going to blow down. Where they ended, eighty meters away, stood the nearest walls and buildings of Jakarta’s extended presidential compound. Which, if all went according to plan, were also going to be blasted aside. “Ready?” he asked.
Lieutenant Christopher “Tygg” Robin looked back across the round, dark heads of two-score semiuniformed insurgents who’d spent some time in the military, and were now hunkered down in ranks. “Ready, Trevor.”
Trevor looked at Stosh, whose grin was as large as ever as he asked, “Can we kick some alien ass now, Captain?”
Trevor stared at him, made sure his own eyes did not show fear. His abject, utter fear. How does Stosh manage to hold life so lightly in his hands? Why haven’t I, after dozens of combat missions, mastered that skill? Will I be fearful all my life? Trevor just nodded, ducked his head. He heard, did not see, Stosh begin the attack:
“Sync detonator leads to the master timer. And five, four, three, two—fire in the hole!”
Chapter Fifty
Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth
Downing’s voice was low and respectful. “We accept your surrender, First Delegate Khraam. But I must ask that, for the record, you explicitly agree to all our terms, not just a capitulation on the ground.”
Darzhee Kut saw the two Hkh’Rkh rear up, move past Caine, their claws flexing. One of the Arat Kur computer techs—having nothing else to do—noticed their ominous approach, wormed a claw surreptitiously into the leg-brace-appearing grip of his sidearm. Darzhee Kut glanced at him, made an affirmatory gesture toward the computer tech’s weapon, and then looked back at the two Hkh’Rkh—who stopped, uncertain of what to do.
Hu’urs Khraam’s response to Downing was reedy, ancient. “I surrender our fleet and all other units under my command, according to the terms you offered. But again, since I am still unable to communicate with all of my forces, I cannot assure you that—”
The First Delegate was interrupted by an abrupt rumble that, in rapid steps, became a roar—like the approach of a supersonic freight train. Which seemed to explode into the command center, the right side of the room shearing away in a whirlwind of sound, flying masonry, shattered glass, discorporating consoles and screens. The blast that had amputated one wall of the room sent debris spinning against and through the three remaining walls—and through many of the beings that stood between them.
Darzhee Kut, already deafened, felt the shock waves hit, went with rather than resisted them, let himself roll under an unused human conference table. The largest chunk of rebar-studded wall finished its shallow arc directly atop the couch occupied by Hu’urs Khraam. Darzhee Kut heard the sickening crunch quite clearly and felt his upper digestive tract squirm. Nearby, he saw one of the Hkh’Rkh sway drunkenly, stare down at his chest, discover the protruding chair leg that had impaled him from the rear, try to pull it out, dying as he fell, tugged down by his own hand. Riordan, unharmed, had evidently been in the shielding shadow of the Hkh’Rkh. Rising, he took a quick look around; his eyes stopped on another figure just getting to its feet. The second Hkh’Rkh. Riordan bolted into the roiling dust as the Hkh’Rkh pulled his weapon, fired, and leapt after him into the gaping hole that had been the fourth wall, pursuing the human.
Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth
“There you are, Advocate!”
Yaargraukh, weak from multiple wounds and blood loss, swayed around. Across the cratered courtyard, Graagkhruud loped at him swiftly. He stopped a leap away. “You have been busy, Advocate.”
“There is much work for a warrior today.”
Graagkhruud almost seemed to forget his contempt of Yaargraukh, evidently pleased by the ritual response. Then First Fist’s normal, contemptuous tone returned. “You will now be my direct assistant.”
“Odd. I expected I would be your next victim in Challenge.”
Graagkhruud considered him carefully. “Had the Arat Kur not ruined us this day, your expectation might have been accurate. But now we have time only to serve the race and
its First Voice. We must now take matters into our own claws.”
“Stranger still. I was just told that we have capitulated and that the combat air patrol—or what is left of it—is grounding.”
“Yes, when First Voice sent me to find you, the grubbers were beginning to think such craven thoughts. What you have now heard confirms his worst fear. That they would betray our alliance if our situation became grave. And so sent me after you, since you have several technical skills which will be essential if we are to carry out our contingency plan.”
“Which is?”
“We must reach our own grounded troopships. They were powered down when the human virus infected the grubbers’ systems, and so are still serviceable. First Voice foresaw that the Arat Kur might fail us, even feared they might have tried to infect our ships with a disabling virus that they could trigger at will. So he kept our ships’ systems unreachable by them.”
“And what are we to do with these ships?”
“Return to orbit, gain access to and man our own interface attack craft.”
“To what end?”
“To hold this world hostages to our nuclear weapons.”
“Before we go, why not gather some actual hostages, such as the human workers here in the compound?”
Graagkhruud stared at Yaargraukh. “It is a sound tactic. We shall do so.”
By my patriarchs, the impenetrable shit-scraper thought me serious! “You are deranged by the stress of this day. My suggestion—and these plans—are nonsense.”
“Have care, Advocate. By a prearranged signal, First Voice sent me after you not only to secure your assistance, but to afford you the opportunity to fully redeem your honor—or to forever lose it. So, I repeat, we shall use hostages—cities as well as individuals—to finally cow the humans, and so, save our brothers, this invasion, and our race’s honor.”
“And what if the Arat Kur have surrendered not merely on the ground, but in orbit also?
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