Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

“Then why the hell didn’t you stand off and pulse your power plants to send a Morse code mayday in the clear?”

“Well, sir, that’s the second problem.”

“More software issues?”

“No, sir. A diplomatic issue.”

“A diplomatic issue?” Silverstein repeated.

“Yes, sir. Our ranking passenger — and he officially ranks me, once we entered this system — ordered that we maintain our approach even as we tried to regain control of our communications.”

“What? Why? Damn it, who is this ass, anyway?”

“It is I,” said another familiar voice, “Ambassador Etienne Gaspard, charged to lead the negotiations with the Arat Kur Wholenest. And now, apparently, I have been promoted to ‘ass.’ I am unfamiliar with the duties and prerogatives of that new rank, Admiral, but it shall figure prominently in my report of this event. Of that I assure you.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bannor asked, evidently having heard the furor but not the specific words. “Are we being hit by the Arat Kur?”

“No,” Riordan answered, “worse.”

“Worse? What could be worse?”

“We’re being hit by diplomats. Stand by to come in out of the sun, guys.”

As Riordan exited the meeting module into the quarantine section of Ira Silverstein’s flagship Lincoln , klaxons began yowling and the alert-condition lights began pulsing red.

Richard Downing waved for Riordan to remain on the other side of the clear plastic barrier as the ship lurched into sudden acceleration and the compartment’s intercom announced, “Mr. Downing, you’re wanted back in the CIC’s intel annex.”

“Acknowledged. But what in bloody hell is happening now ?”

“Sorry, sir. Unidentified ship just shifted in.”

“ Another one?”

“Yes sir, and only twenty-five light-seconds beyond geosynchronous orbit. They are not responding to hails, but— Wait a moment, sir. I have more data coming in.”

Caine put his hands up against the wall of the plastic box in which he was being held. “Richard, get me out of here.”

The commo officer’s report resumed before Downing could respond. “Classified update for you, Mr. Downing. The ship identifies itself as a Ktoran vessel operating under ‘Autarchy aegis’—whatever that means — and is demanding the immediate repatriation of their ambassador, Tlerek Sirn Shethkador. They are still not acknowledging our hails or altering their trajectory. They’re coming straight at us, sir. We’re deploying to engage.”

“Very well, keep me informed. Downing out.”

“Richard, get me the hell out of this box now .”

“Caine, I—” The quarantine section’s commo panel buzzed; Downing rolled his eyes. “Bollocks — now what ?” He tapped open the circuit. “Yes?”

“Richard, Ben Hwang here. I just got the lab results: you can release Caine from quarantine.”

“Many thanks, Ben. You’ve heard the situation?”

“I have. And I figured you’d want Caine to be on hand for whatever comes next. He saw through the Ktoran bullshit the first time. He might again.”

“Indeed he might.”

“One bit of bad news: there’s no usable genetic material from the dead skin and hair we harvested from the Ktoran ambassador’s first holding cell. He must have been misted by a gene-specific toxin when he emerged from his bogus environment tank. So we’re going to need to take a cell sample against his will.”

“Not with a Ktoran ship in-system, you’re not. He threatened war the first time we tried that. Now he just might be able to carry out that threat. Besides, overriding his diplomatic privilege is a political decision, not military.”

“Well, we do have two Republic consuls in the Fleet.”

“Yes, but not a lot of time, so start the process, Ben. If you need me, I’ll be in the auxiliary bridge’s intel annex.” Downing closed the channel, instructed the waiting orderly: “Mr. Riordan is to be released immediately. You will forego taking his exit vitals.”

Caine refrained from drumming his fingers as the orderly started undoing the box’s seals. “What’s our job?”

“Since the Ktorans have come looking for Ambassador Shethkador, we have to run real-time technical and diplomatic intelligence.”

Caine shrugged. “Well, if our objective is to maximize our safety, the course of action regarding Shethkador is clear.”

“Oh?” Downing asked as Caine emerged from the quarantine chamber. “And what course of action is that?”

“You kill him. Immediately.”

Downing blinked. He had probably presumed that such ruthless thoughts never entered the former defense analyst’s mind. “Caine, I agree that Shethkador is a right bastard, but — he’s an ambassador.”

“Yes, he’s an ambassador who back-shot me in Jakarta while masquerading as a genuine exosapient. In other words, he’s also a lying assassin.”

Downing shook his head. “I know he deserves to be shown out the nearest airlock, but killing him could start a war.”

Riordan shrugged. “I know we can’t kill him, even though that would be the safest course of action for fleet security. But that’s the risk we take for the good of Mother Earth.”

“I don’t remember you being quite so sarcastic, Caine.”

“I don’t remember having to be courteous to monsters who’ve tried to kill me. Multiple times.”

Downing seemed to be casting about for an appropriate riposte but didn’t find one. He opened the hatch. “We have a job to do.”

“Yeah, don’t we always?” Caine led the way out.

* * *

Standing at the edge of the intel annex’s small holotank, Caine watched as the Ktoran ship — signified by a red mote — effortlessly slashed through the screen of defensive drones that had been deployed by European Union, Russlavic Federation, and United Commonwealth warships. The Hunter-class drone control sloops — small blue specks — gave ground before the much larger vessel, which to Caine looked like an ominously effulgent drop of blood.

“They didn’t even bother to use any drones of their own,” muttered Gray Rinehart, Downing’s assistant and adjutant-director of IRIS. “They just took out ours with onboard lasers. Didn’t even use their main, spinal mount: just their secondary UV batteries.” He shook his head. “Damn, but they’re swinging a big brassy set.”

“And making a point while they’re at it,” Caine murmured.

Vassily Sukhinin, senior consul for the Russlavic Federation and a confidante, stared at the plot, frowning. “If you mean that they are trying to show themselves to be unconcerned with our weapons, I wonder if they will be so dismissive when they come within range of our nuke-pumped X-ray laser drones.”

Caine shook his head. “I’m not saying that they’re invulnerable, just that they have a lot of abilities that we don’t.”

Sukhinin scanned the flatscreens ringing the space above the holotank like a halo of black rectangles. “Where are the visuals? We littered nearby space with no- and low-metal microsensors. The Ktor must have entered their range by now.”

Downing, cupping his hand over his earbud, explained the lack of images. “The Ktor have been eliminating the microsensors as they approach.”

Caine nodded. “Which means that they’re doing it from ranges greater than fifty thousand kilometers, since we’re not getting any visuals first.”

Downing glanced up. “According to the comchatter, the Ktor are eliminating the sensors from ranges substantially greater than fifty kiloklicks.”

Sukhinin’s expression went from surprise to narrow-eyed wariness. “How much greater, Richard?”