Trial by Fire

by Charles E Gannon

  Urzueth Ragh looked at him. “So do the humans expect us to allow their interceptors to continue to climb toward orbit?”

  Darzhee Kut returned Urzueth’s stare. “Are we prepared to interdict one hundred percent of the nuclear weapons they would launch if we do not?”

  Hu’urs Khraam looked at them both, then allowed chitinous covers to close over his eyes. Darzhee Kut edged nearer to the Arat Kur who had, over these weeks, become more his mentor than his superior. “Revered Hu’urs Khraam, if at this time we cannot act, perhaps this is the right moment to talk . . .”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Near the Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth

  Trevor leaned back so he could see up through the hole in the roof several stories above. Just before they had reached this building—their jumpoff point for the final attack—the fuselage of an intercepted rocket had cut a straight shaft through it, from roof to atrium. The jagged, impromptu skylight now showed a darkening, low cloudbank. But still no sign of rain. Or of more airbursting nukes.

  Tygg approached, looked up as well. “Is it almost time?”

  “Almost. Let’s pull Gavin in from overwatch.”

  “Right. And I’ll send one of my blokes to get the electronics out of the Faraday cage.”

  Trevor nodded. “Yeah, might as well. If we see any more nukes, they’re going to be in our laps, not high overhead.”

  “There’s a cheery thought, mate. I’m off.”

  As Tygg headed down to the basement, Trevor walked to the front of the building, found Witkowski crouched in the same concealed position he’d been in since entering the building. “What’s the good word, Stosh?”

  “All quiet on the Western Front.”

  “Winfield?”

  “Still no sign of him. Don’t worry. He’s a tough kid from Watts.”

  “Stosh, Jake Winfield’s from Greenwich, Connecticut.”

  “Well, his grandmother—or grandfather, or someone—still lives in Watts. And he visited them. Once. Well, he wanted to, anyway.”

  Trevor smiled. “Stosh, you are insane.”

  “I am inspired. They are frequently confused.”

  Trevor nodded in the direction of Harmoni Square. “What else can you tell me?”

  “No cell chatter since our big bright white ones went off at twelve o’clock high. Fried the net, I’m guessing. A few unattached insurgents skulking around, giving the Roach Motel a wide berth.”

  “And the Arat Kur security forces?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’d left when no one was looking.”

  “No more Hkh’Rkh search-and-destroy squads, either?”

  “Not since Gavin introduced the last bunch of Sloths to the wonders of long-range marksmanship.”

  John Gavin had caught the Hkh’Rkh elites flatfooted with the Remington assault gun, ran them straight into Stosh and Tygg’s combined field of fire. Trevor had wanted to avoid an engagement, but the Hkh’Rkh NCO had evidently arrived at the same conclusion that Trevor had come to an hour earlier: that this particular building was an ideal spot for an OP and several sniper nests. Unfortunately, as Stosh pointed out later, multiple tenancy was strictly prohibited within the city limits and the human commandos had enforced that exclusionary law with a decisive application of firepower. “Stosh,” Trevor said quietly, “tell our local recruits we’re ready to move. Should be getting the go signal for the final attack any minute, now.”

  “Bringing news like that, they’ll probably try to kiss me.”

  Trevor stared at the homely SEAL. “Not a chance, chief.”

  “Woe is me, unwanted and unloved. Any other heartbreaking orders?”

  “Yeah. Tell the locals who laid the demo charges that they need to talk us through the triggering sequence again.”

  “How hard can it be, Skipper? We press the buttons. The charges they laid in a nice straight row go off one after the other, blowing open a path from our front door right into the Roach Motel.”

  “Simple in concept, Stosh, but I want to get the timing exactly right. And I want them to run a remote circuit-test of the charges that the inside agents placed along the compound’s inner walls. If the Arat Kur or Hkh’Rkh found and removed them, I want to know that before we start running up our own highway of destruction—only to find ourselves bouncing off the still-intact compound walls.”

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t be much fun. I’ll send the fireworks boys up on the double.”

  Trevor squinted at the closest enemy hardpoint, only eighty meters away, brooding outward into Majahapit Street from the gutted Chamber of Commerce building. I watch you and, maybe, you watch me. Or maybe you figure that since this building is quiet, your hit-squad cleared at least this much turf for you. He checked his watch. Ten minutes until their final assault on the west perimeter was to get the “go-no go” signal. That presumed, of course, that the second-hand messaging remained accurate. The word had come via a runner from another large mob moving slowly north along streets paralleling Merdeka Square on the east, who had in turn received it from one of the tunnel rats who were manning the fiber-com net under the streets somewhere to the north. And today, in Jakarta, that was about as high-quality a message a anyone was going to get.

  Trevor felt as much as heard movement behind him. Bannor Rulaine was there, an extra eight-millimeter CoBro assault rifle in hand. Trevor nodded his thanks. “Thanks for building us that Faraday cage, Bannor.”

  “Not a problem. Never imagined I’d ever have use for that particular bit of training. Spent years thinking it had been a waste of six hours of my very important life. But our intact electronics and RAPs should give us the edge we need.”

  “I sure hope so, Bannor.” Trevor looked back at the enemy hardpoint, wondered if the demo charges would take it down as planned, wondered what lay beyond it. “I sure hope so.”

  Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth

  Caine rubbed his left forearm with his right hand. Was that pain ever going to go away? He hadn’t felt any discomfort there since his abortive attempt to leave Indonesia, but here it was, back again: a sharp stabbing sensation, racing along his ulna.

  Caine leaned forward, checked the command center’s side door to see if the departing Hkh’Rkh had possibly neglected to post a guard there. Nope, still one on duty, rifle held at port arms. No way to get out and warn Yaargraukh that Graagkhruud and his retinue had left the room looking like Macbeth’s henchmen being sent to kill Banquo. And just wait until First Voice hears who Hu’urs Khraam is now trying to reach on the radio, and why. That ought to be worth the price of admission.

  It was Hu’urs Khraam himself who jarred Caine out of his train of thought. “Once we have contacted your people, Speaker Riordan, I will be grateful to have you help us assess their intentions.”

  “First Delegate Khraam, surely you are not asking me to be a traitor.”

  “I am only asking you to do what you have already done: provide us with insight regarding human actions. Your observations have been far more useful and perspicacious than those of our—special advisors. It was you who helped us understand the slow approach of the interceptors, after all.”

  “True, First Delegate. But I did so because I am here to help you and my people both find a way to avoid further fighting. By sharing that information with you, I served that purpose. I am not here to help you fight, or gain an advantage in negotiations, against my own people.”

  Hu’urs Khraam considered. “But you will help us perceive correctly if we seem to be misperceiving?”

  “Of course.”

  The Arat Kur communications specialist signaled Hu’urs Khraam. He had a senior representative of the human command structure on the line. The First Delegate rose up slightly. “Hello? To whom am I speaking?”

  The human voice that responded was the same one that had contacted them earlier. Caine kept himself from smiling.

  Because it was Downing. “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, I am glad to speak to yo
u.”

  Hu’urs Khraam paused. “My apologies, but am I speaking to Delegate Downing?”

  “That is correct.”

  “My apologies. I did not recognize your voice when my subalternate Urzueth Ragh spoke with you earlier.”

  “That is quite understandable, First Delegate. We had little contact at the Convocation, and this has been a busy and difficult day.”

  “Indeed. Mr. Downing, forgive what may seem an impertinent question, but why am I not addressing Mr. Ching or another Confederation consul directly?”

  “Because we only have this one, prearranged link between us, running through the transmitter you approved. And we are unwilling to route any commlinks through to our heads of state. Your human collaborators might have a way to track back the connection and thereby provide you with targeting coordinates. Unlike Mr. Ching, I am quite expendable—despite my plenipotentiary negotiating powers.”

  “I see. Very well. You will note that we have elected to observe your directive not to attack your rising interceptors, Mr. Downing. For now. This is an act of good faith, which we hope will set the tone for the rest of these discussions.”

  “With respect, First Delegate, it seems to us that you had little choice but to comply, if you wished to avoid nuclear incineration.”

  “Admittedly, we find ourselves in a challenging situation at the moment. You are to be congratulated on your deceptions, Mr. Downing. They have proven relatively effective. At any rate, we are willing to return to our original terms—those we dictated upon our arrival—and reopen negotiations upon them.”

  “We are not willing to reopen discussions on the original terms, First Delegate. They were unacceptable. Furthermore, it is the opinion of the Confederation leadership that they were intended to make this conflict inevitable, rather than avoidable.”

  “That is an interesting hypothesis. If you have no interest in resuming negotiations, why did you even accept the reception of this communication?”

  “To offer you the chance to surrender.”

  “Mr. Downing, did I understand you correctly? You are offering us the chance to surrender?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Mr. Downing, while my staff concedes that we may take significant losses before the ongoing cislunar space engagement is resolved, we will still emerge victorious. And then you will have no fleet left.”

  “Our analysis suggests a different outcome. A very different outcome.”

  “We have utmost confidence in our own analysis.”

  “I’m sure you do. But your analysts are not aware of all the variables.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Our fleet’s appearance was an unforeseen variable when you were calculating the odds of your success today. Consider how your current projections might be further problematized, not to say ruined, by the intrusion of further unforeseen variables.”

  “Mr. Downing, your diction and calm marks your voice as a worthy one to sing for your species. However, you are nonetheless human and deception is as ineluctable a part of your nature as are the other primal survival traits of your species. In short, it is only logical that, having surprised us with your fleet’s appearance, you will use it to legitimate further ‘bluffs’ by suggesting that you have further ‘aces up your sleeve.’ Do I use these colloquialisms correctly?”

  “You do. But I am not bluffing.”

  “For sake of argument, let us presume that you are not. What terms would you offer us? May we withdraw?”

  “Not immediately.”

  “What do you propose?”

  Caine leaned forward to hear Downing’s reply—and felt another spasm of pain in his left ulna. What the hell?

  Downing’s tone was almost mild. “First, your ships will be boarded and rigged for scuttling in the event of treachery. We will then escort your hulls, one by one, to Jupiter. There you will vent all but five percent of your fuel upon achieving a holding orbit, in which you will remain for whatever time is required for us to conclude a peace agreement with the senior leadership of the Wholenest on Sigma Draconis Two. If and when this is accomplished, your carriers will be allowed to refuel, discharge our boarding parties, and depart. However, we will retain one hundred members of your senior command staff, several STL vessels, and one shift-carrier for one year’s time.”

  “For intelligence and technical purposes?”

  “For insurance.”

  Ah, Downing. What a liar. The personnel and ships would be worthwhile as means of ensuring compliance, but Hu’urs Khraam was also right about the intelligence angle: Earth’s entire scientific community would be drooling over the prospect of getting their hands on the very best of Arat Kur engineering.

  Hu’urs Khraam played Downing’s lie against him. “You require insurance? Ah. So these one hundred persons of our command staff are, in fact, hostages.”

  Downing’s response was unrushed, calm. “We hope your personnel will simply see themselves as our guests.”

  “And if the Wholenest will not come to terms?”

  “Then, after debarking your crew to join your landing forces, Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh will be split into separate groups, each of which will be housed in humane prison facilities.”

  “And our fleet?”

  “Becomes our prize.”

  “And if, at this time, we choose to continue to fight?”

  “Then you may not expect these terms again. Given signal disruption and both sides’ jamming, it may be impossible to establish a spaceside cease-fire after our second echelon and the remains of your fleet have become fully engaged.”

  “Your offer is a—measured one, which we appreciate.”

  First Voice stepped into the room, dust on his armor, his retinue somewhat reduced. He had obviously overheard the immediately preceding conversation; his crest was erect and quivering. “We will not be party to any such agreement.”

  “Be calmed, First Voice of the First Family.” Hu’urs Khraam looked at him for several seconds, during which no one spoke or even moved in the command center. Then Hu’urs Khraam turned back toward the communications panels. “Mr. Downing, I am afraid this communication has been fruitless. Despite your assertions, and the advice of your Speaker, we must decline your—”

  “Excuse me, First Delegate; you mentioned our Speaker. Do you mean Mr. Riordan? Is he there?”

  “He is.”

  “May I speak with him?”

  “I am sorry, but my security staff recommends against allowing contact at this time.”

  “Then how may I know that he is there and well?”

  “Because I have said it.”

  “And I have told you that I am not bluffing, but you do not believe me. I am afraid that leaves me unable to believe you, First Delegate.”

  “Very well. Speaker Riordan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You may report your personal condition to Mr. Downing. That and nothing else.”

  Caine cleared his throat to project across the room. “Richard, it’s me. I’m safe, and being well treated.”

  “Excellent. In that event, First Consul Ching and the Confederation Council have asked me to inquire if you will accept the ad hoc position of Ambassador-without-Portfolio to both the Arat Kur and the Hkh’Rkh for the duration of this crisis?”

  Caine blinked. “Uh, yes—yes, I do.”

  “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, Mr. Riordan is now our official ambassador, and we expect him to be treated accordingly. He does not have plenipotentiary powers and thus can only negotiate, not conclude agreements independently. That would require consultation with us.”

  “Certainly, although you will appreciate that, although he is an esteemed guest, Mr. Riordan is also a potential enemy agent. You will not have contact with him again until such time as we deem it operationally prudent to permit it.”

  “Naturally. I take it, then, that you reject our terms?”

  “Yes, unless you can give us more time, so that we may—”

  “Fir
st Delegate Khraam, I appreciate that you have not even had ten minutes to consult your staff or convince your allies. But you will appreciate that the advantages we enjoy at this moment may not last another half hour. As you point out, if our fleet is defeated, you would be far less inclined to consider our terms. So if we do not receive your immediate surrender, we must force a prompt and decisive military outcome while we still may.”

  Hu’urs Khraam clasped and unclasped his claws. “Then I must—for now—decline.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, for there may be no second chance. Will you relay one final message to Mr. Riordan, a message of a personal nature?”

  “You may do so yourself. He is still here.”

  Mobile Command Center “Trojan Ghost One,”

  over the Indian Ocean, Earth

  Downing muted the pickup, smiled at Alnduul. “How convenient. We didn’t even have to ask them to bring Caine to a communications console. You have a fix on him?”

  Alnduul shrugged. “It has never wavered. And the system test is positive. The imbedded device is functioning and signals that it is proximal to appropriate equipment.”

  “Then send the Trojan bug.”

  Downing reactivated the audio pickup as Alnduul calmly depressed one, and then two more, of the buttons on his control vantbrass.

  Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth

  Hu’urs Khraam sounded impatient. “Mr. Downing, what is the message?”

  “My apologies for the delay while we located it, First Delegate Khraam. Caine, the message is from Nolan Corcoran.”

  Caine was even more stunned than the Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh who surrounded him. From the land of the dead, Tereisias speaks to Ulysses—well, Odysseus. “From Nolan?”

  “Yes. It reads: ‘You were right about the Trojan horse, Odysseus. Thank you. And I’m sorry.’”

  “Thanks?” And “Sorry?” “That’s all he wrote?”

  Downing’s response sounded sly, even ironic. “Yes. That’s all he wrote—”