Charles Gannon - Fire With Fire

It was Trevor who spoke first. “Did we just-?”

Then the Dornaani ship came about-the new star field wheeling slowly past-and revealed the murky sphere that was Barnard’s Star II’s roiling hydrogen-and-ammonia atmosphere.

Caine heard Downing release his caught breath, heard Trevor gulp-a constricted sound-and found he could not put two thoughts together. The implications of what he had seen-instantaneous travel over a distance of sixteen light-years-were still rushing in at him.

It was Trevor who spoke first. “Well,” he said hoarsely, “if Wasserman was here, he sure would feel better about our siding with the Dornaani.”

Caine nodded, spoke to the ceiling. “Alnduul?”

“Yes, Mr. Riordan?”

“That was most impressive.”

“We cannot do it often. It is very expensive and requires us to overhaul what you would call our shift drive.”

What we would call your shift drive? Meaning that it isn’t actually a shift drive? Hmmm… but for now: “Even with that limitation, I find it puzzling that the Custodians or the Dornaani Collective feel that any other power poses a threat to them. With a fleet of ships capable of a sixteen-light-year shift from a standing start, and able to make a pinpoint transit to within-” Caine glanced at the gas giant, assessed, guessed “-five planetary diameters of a world, I would expect you to be invincible.”

“Yes, one might readily infer that from our technological capabilities.”

But if such vastly superior technology was still not decisive, then- “So the vulnerability of the Dornaani does not arise from a deficiency in equipment, but will?”

“I am, of course, not allowed to respond to that conjecture directly. However, it is a most elegant hypothesis.”

“Elegant?” echoed Trevor. “Elegant how?”

Downing nodded. “It is elegant in that it resolves many apparent contradictions and also meshes with much of what we saw at the Convocation. The Dornaani do not lack power: they lack the commitment for decisive action.” Downing looked up. “Except you, Alnduul. And, I am guessing, the Custodians in general?”

“Again, I cannot comment.”

Caine frowned. “Maybe not, but given the duties of the Custodians, I would speculate that only the most-er, proactive members of your species would pursue such a career.”

“Another highly stimulating conjecture on which I may offer no comment. However, I may mention this: we Custodians have had much occasion to monitor and learn of the peoples of Earth. And many of us were struck by the similarity between the oath of service that a new Custodian must take and a human axiom, attributed to the Irish philosopher Edmund Burke.”

“And what is that axiom?”

“‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’”

Trevor smiled, Downing blew out a great sigh. Caine just nodded. “Thank you, Alnduul.”

“Why do you thank me, Mr. Riordan?”

“For sharing that with us. And for being who you are.”

After a pause, Alnduul responded, “And who else would I be?” The tone was wry, yet strangely serious, too. When he spoke again, it was with his customary inflection. “We have arrived unobserved, despite your automated surveillance satellites. And yes, Mr. Downing, I am including the small nonmetallic devices mixed in with the debris of the rings. You will experience a gee of acceleration now: we shall have you at your destination shortly.”

Within the hour, their destination appeared just beyond the terminator of the gas giant: a small white disk that housed the naval base that humans called the Pearl. Wreathed in a thick, white, infamously noxious atmosphere, the world itself was the third satellite of its parent planet, and hence designated C, making it Barnard’s Star 2 C. Or “Barney Deucy,” in service slang. Angling up from it were several sleek silver slivers.

Trevor pitched his chin at them. “Welcoming committee. With weapons hot, I’ll bet.”

“That assumption is incorrect, Commander. We transmitted the codes Mr. Downing furnished to us when he boarded. I believe your craft will rendezvous with you in approximately thirty minutes.”

Trevor frowned, looked askance at the ceiling. “Don’t you mean, ‘rendezvous with us ’?”

“No, Commander, I do not.” There was a distant rumble-and suddenly, the starfield seemed to shift a bit. “We have detached your pod for autonomous operations; it will now maneuver to the rendezvous. As soon as you have transferred to your own craft, and your pressurized cargo containers have been deployed for pick-up, this module will automatically return to our ship. It has been a pleasure meeting all of you.”

Caine smiled at the ceiling. “I hope our paths cross soon again.”

“It is difficult to foresee the circumstances which might permit that. And yet, stranger things have occurred.” There was a long pause, so long that at first they thought Alnduul had departed without his customary salutation. “There is a datum I believe you should all have-but particularly you, Commander Corcoran.”

Trevor started, looked up. “Me?”

“Yes. It concerns your father.”

“Uh…yes?”

Caine heard the hesitation in Alnduul’s voice: he’s breaking rules; he’s not supposed to reveal this.

Alnduul’s voice was slow, deliberate. “The organism you found in your father’s chest was not the cause of his death at Sounion.”

Trevor gaped. “What? But-how do you know that?”

“Because we introduced the organism into his body to assist him. It did not malfunction.”

“You-?”

“Enlightenment unto you all, gentlemen.”

Trevor turned red. “Damn it, you had better enlighten me some more, you-”

But the almost inaudible carrier signal was gone: Alnduul had departed.

MENTOR

Debarking from the Russlavic Federation shuttle inside one of the Pearl’s subsurface hangars, Caine found himself mere meters away from military hardware he’d only read-and written-about. Downing impatiently gestured for him to catch up, leading them towards a bank of gray, yellow-stenciled elevators beyond the security scanning pad. “I am scheduled to brief and be debriefed in ten minutes,” he tossed over his shoulder, “then back up here to catch a clipper to the outbound shift-carrier Borodino . If I miss it, I’ll have a thirty-day wait.”

Personnel in Federation gray-green and Commonwealth blue-black mobbed the three of them with scanners, sniffers, and snoopers, reprising a similar dance of detection that had swirled around the trio when they had first transferred to the shuttle just over an hour ago.

Downing went to the smallest elevator, ran his security fob over the sensor. The door opened and, hand extended, he urged Caine and Trevor to enter.

Caine stepped forward-and stopped. For the briefest moment, he felt-what? A profoundly sharpened awareness of his surroundings: edges seemed more crisp, sounds more clipped. Time itself seemed to narrow down into a tunnel of many rings, rather than a pervasive, shapeless flow. Yet it all felt more like a premonition than an experience, as if these sensations were important only because they presaged the moment to come-

Caine backed away from the open elevator. “No,” he said.

Trevor blinked, then stared. “Caine, are you-are you okay? Problems from the decompression, again?”

“No. I–I think we should use the stairs.”

Downing, still holding the elevator open, was studying him: Caine could feel the assessing gaze. “It’s six flights down, you know.”

“I didn’t know. But the exercise will do us good.”