Charles Gannon - Fire With Fire

Nolan nodded. “Yes, he’s an author-and a big part of his success was that when he analyzed military or space policy, he got his hands dirty. He went and learned the ropes himself. He’s gone through Basic and part of ROTC, and was on site in some pretty dangerous situations, like the Pretoria Quarantine. And as for dealing with shady characters-well, he’s had an arm’s-length relationship with the press for ten years, so we know he can think on his feet and smell hidden agendas a mile off.” Nolan glanced out the observation panel at the limp body lying on the gurney; Riordan’s auburn hair was lank with sweat, his half-lidded green eyes as inert as those of a corpse. “Caine will do just fine.”

Downing grunted, picked up his dataslate from the booth’s control panel. “Nolan, there’s one last thing you might want to consider: a straight arrow like Riordan usually has a strong conscience. So he might veer from his initial trajectory if he begins to doubt the integrity of the bowmen who launched him.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure that he never doubts our integrity, won’t we-Richard?”

Downing, hearing his full name used, didn’t need to hear the emphasis as well: Nolan had indicated that it was “Richard’s job” to ensure Caine’s continued faith in his handlers and mission. Brilliant, just brilliant . “I’ll be heading off to dinner, then. Coming, Nolan?”

The retired admiral did not look away from Riordan when he replied. “Thanks, Rich. I’m not hungry yet. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Downing nodded. “Bright and early.” He entered the security code for the debriefing chamber’s exit. It hissed open.

But as Downing stepped into the corridor beyond, he heard a faint sound behind him: Corcoran had left the observer’s booth, was already next to Riordan’s gurney. And, just as the security door closed, Downing noticed that Nolan had abandoned his customary military bearing. He looked more like a troubled father standing beside the bed of a desperately ill child.

ODYSSEUS

Caine frayed another wire end, cursed, and glanced up at the training area’s control booth. “Do you have to keep distracting me while I try to memorize this circuitry?”

Downing nodded down at him. “It’s part of the training. If you ever need to jury-rig a command override, or cut a control circuit, you will probably be in a loud, chaotic, and very dangerous environment.”

Caine looked around as buzzers shrieked and lights flashed erratically. “At least you left out the dangerous parts.”

“In this scenario, the hatch just to your left-the one you’re trying to bypass now-opens directly to space. And you are not wearing a spacesuit.”

“Well, that’s not a big deal, since the vacuum is just make-believe.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption, Caine.”

“But this is just training. You wouldn’t-”

“I suggest you work while we talk. A tight schedule such as ours means we have to train you using the fastest form of operant conditioning: negative reinforcement. So failures will result in unpleasant consequences.”

Caine found that the hatchway seemed slightly ominous, now. He started stripping the next wire more vigorously. “Yeah, but this is a training exercise-”

“And, as I said, part of it is to train you to perform tasks while being distracted. So, as you work, I will continue answering the questions you asked about IRIS. To continue, the Institute’s primary mandate is to reduce our home system’s vulnerability to hypothetically hostile exosapients.”

Caine twisted the exposed wires. “If the exosapients have a technological edge, you’d be winning a victory just to get them to land on Earth itself.”

Downing paused. “And how would that be a victory?”

“Hell, it’s better than having them exterminate us from orbit.” Caine looked for the green lead, found it snugged behind the red one: good thing I’m not color blind . “Look: if alien invaders beat us in space, they could stay in Earth orbit and play ‘drop the rock’ until they’ve battered us back into the Stone Age. Of course, if they’re genocidal, they’ll do that anyway-and none of this matters.”

“Wouldn’t mass landings be as bad as bombardment?”

“You won’t be facing mass landings unless their technology is way, way beyond ours.” Caine fumbled the multitool: it grazed across two leads, imparted a mild shock. “From what you told me earlier, the projected development of FTL craft predicts that they’ll remain big, expensive, and therefore, rare. That means our adversary can only bring limited forces. Unless they’re godlike.”

“Very well-but I still don’t see how having them establish a beachhead is a victory for us.”

Caine looked up at the control booth. “Are you familiar with the Vietnam War?”

Downing stared down: there was a split second of uncertainty in his responding nod.

Caine shrugged. “The Vietnamese were utter underdogs: inferior tech, lack of air supremacy, unable to strike at their opponent’s homeland. But they won the war, despite losing every major battle.” Caine twisted two wires together, realized he had only half the job done but had used almost three-quarters of his available time. “They understood that when your enemy is large and technologically superior, you want him in your territory, because-if you are still the true master of your own countryside-his invasion force will become your hostage.”

“Perhaps-but in our scenario, an invader’s orbital fire could reduce our cities to rubble first.”

Caine shook his head. “Not if they intend to rule us rather than exterminate us. So, if they want to avoid a ‘final solution,’ you dangle the prospect of capitulation-or even collaboration-under their noses while preparing to strike at them.”

“And with their superior technology, how do you propose to get close enough to strike at them?”

Caine glanced up. “By getting-or prepositioning-forces inside their beachhead. And don’t give me that doubting-Thomas look: there are always methods of infiltrating forces through ‘secure perimeters’ or ‘impassable’ borders.”

“Such as?”

“Well, if we don’t take the story too literally, the tactic of the Trojan Horse still has merit.” Caine quickly stripped the insulation off the last two wires. “Look: if people-exosapients or otherwise-want something from you, sooner or later, they’re going to want to meet with you-on what they believe to be their turf.”

Downing nodded. “And that’s how you get inside, get close enough to deliver the first, crippling blow.”

Caine nodded back. “That’s the way you get inside. Hey, I’m almost done here.”

“Yes. But unfortunately, you have just run out of time.”

Red lights flashed and spun; a klaxon howled next to Caine’s ear. The hatchway beside him wrenched open with a high-speed hiss. But instead of finding himself sucked out into space, Caine was slammed backwards by a lateral geyser of water.

And, as the roaring flume bounced him off the mock-up bulkheads-which Caine discovered were just as hard as real ones-he thought: Well, shit .

MENTOR

Nolan edged into the control room as the orderlies were helping a bruised and waterlogged Caine limp out of the test chamber. “How’d it go?”

Downing snatched up his dataslate. “A brilliant success and a dismal failure. Riordan effortlessly spewed out a number of completely novel-and potentially game-changing-strategic insights, but botched the main task: a simple circuitry bypass job that many of our average trainees learn in half the time.” Downing shook his head. “I’m afraid Caine’s genius must be of a very narrow sort.”