Urzueth’s voice buzzed with anxiety. “So what shall we do?”
“Continue to shoot down their other missiles and make submarines our new priority targets.”
Hu’urs Khraam rose from his couch. “Can we not trust to the PDF systems to ward off their missiles?”
“That depends upon how many missiles make their terminal approach at the same instant, Esteemed Hu’urs Khraam.” Urzueth Ragh waved a claw at the contact-cluttered map of Java.
“It also depends upon the range at which they launch,” added Yaargraukh. “Our concern for submarines was primarily due to the short flight times of their missiles. And those estimates presumed all our PDF systems to be functional. We are not in that enviable position now.”
Graagkhruud pitched his combined neck-head sharply. “Well, what of the special airphibian attack craft you Arat Kur designed for this purpose? Use them to drive off these submarines.”
Urzueth Ragh folded his claws together. “We can no longer do that, First Fist.”
“Why in rotting meat not?”
“Do you not recall? When our CAP missions were overtaxed, we withdrew our airphibian craft from submersible operations.”
“Well, if they came out of the water, can’t they go back in?”
“Not as they are currently configured. They are now airborne, carrying ordnance loads on external racks. They cannot make immediate transition to marine operations.”
“Well, land them and—”
“Apologies, First Fist, but you may recall that Surabaja airfield is inoperable and Soekarno and the other Jakartan fields are backlogged rearming ground-support aircraft and servicing interceptors to send out against the approaching human air vehicles. Which will arrive in less than half an hour, if they hold their present course and speed—”
On the map of Java, the white line tracing the progress of the first submarine-launched missile bloomed into a red globe, two hundred kilometers east-southeast of Jakarta.
A nuclear device had landed in Indonesia.
A moment later, the white line denoting the second missile stopped over Jakarta, then vanished. Darzhee Kut held his breath as Urzueth made his report. “The two submarine missiles each discharged three independent warheads. The red globe indicates that the missile which flew inland made a ground or low airburst strike. The missile launched at Jakarta does not appear on the display because it airbursted high. It deployed three one-megaton warheads.”
“An EMP strike,” Caine Riordan commented, confirming what most of then had already conjectured.
“So it appears. This eliminated almost half of our remaining PDF arrays. The missile that went inland deployed three independent, high-speed two-hundred-kiloton devices, which detonated in an overlapping trefoil pattern.”
First Voice stepped toward the map, toward the fading red ball. “Where is that?” His voice sounded like he already knew the answer.
Hu’urs Khraam closed his lids and settled into his couch. “We have been fools.”
“It can’t be—” started Darzhee Kut.
“It’s the mass driver.”
Darzhee, like the rest of them, all turned to look at Caine.
Graagkhruud took a long step toward the human, claws ready. “You knew—?”
“Of course I didn’t know,” Caine replied calmly. Darzhee Kut admired Riordan’s ability to sit unmoving before the rush of the immense predator. “But it’s obvious now, isn’t it?”
First Voice sounded careful, wary of stepping into a trap made of words. “What is obvious, Riordan?”
“That the precious mass driver that you thought you were holding hostage actually didn’t matter one damned bit. And that we will drop a nuke on our own land, our own people.”
Yaargraukh’s tongue came out briefly.
“There is humor in this, Advocate?”
“Not the kind that elicits laughter, First Voice, but that shows us our own folly. They planned this from the first, my suzerain.”
“Planned what?” asked Graagkhruud.
But First Voice was nodding. “Yaargraukh is right. This is akin to the human trickery at Barnard’s Star. There, we fought and saw the outcome we expected. Here, we studied Earth for a target and found the mass driver on the kind of island we wanted and yet distant from the great powers. It was the perfect choice.”
“Too perfect,” agreed Hu’urs Khraam. “It was bait in a trap. Now we feel the jaws of the trap closing about us. Did you know of this ruse, Riordan?”
“No.”
Graagkhruud looked around at the calm faces that listened to the human. “And you believe him? Stab this creature and it will bleed lies. It is made up of them.”
First Voice waved him down. “Be still, First Fist. Riordan’s case is not so clear as you would draw it. And if he knew of this ruse, why did he return here several days ago—to commit suicide?”
“But—”
“And how could he know where he would be housed, upon his arrival planetside? His species’ megacorporate traitors might have chosen to hold him at their mass driver facility. Had they done so, what would have become of him in this last minute?”
Graagkhruud, rumbling unpleasantly, turned his attention to the map of Java.
Hu’urs Khraam rose from his couch. “We must reassess our situation.”
“Mr. Astor-Smath?”
“Yes, Eimi?”
“You have a visitor.”
Astor-Smath stubbed out his cigarette, pushed the ashtray and lighter off to one side, and looked up from his spreadsheets long enough to inspect his assistant’s waifish lines. “Is the visitor expected?”
“He says he does not have an appointment, but that he is always expected. And sir, I think he has either traveled to get here, or is leaving immediately after speaking with you: he has his luggage with him.”
Ah. Him. “Show our guest in, Eimi. And you may leave for lunch now. Better yet, take the rest of the day.”
“You mean I should—leave, Mr. Astor-Smath?” She glanced about nervously: even here, in the fortified bowels of CoDevCo’s Indonesian Bank complex, the sound and vibration of rippling explosions were discernible.
“Yes, Eimi. You’re done for the day. And don’t worry about this foolish little uprising. It’s a tantrum, not a war. Leave whenever you wish.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Astor-Smath.” Eimi Singh rubbed one long, slender arm with the opposite long, slender hand. “But I did not choose to pay the premium for a reserved room in the bank complex. I only have my own apartment.” She looked beyond the walls toward the streets of Jakarta. “In the city.”
“Oh? I didn’t know,” Astor-Smath lied.
Eimi nodded, looked away, did not move.
“I can see you’re scared,” he said. “Don’t worry. You can stay at my apartment, here in the complex.”
“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t—”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be an inconvenience. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Eimi leaned forward, eyes bright. “Really? Thank you, Mr. Astor-Smath, thank you so much. It is very frightening out there, today. I am sure you are right about the uprising just being a nuisance—but it worries me. I suppose I’m a little foolish about such things.”
“That’s quite all right, Eimi. Now show our guest in.”
“Yes, Mr. Astor-Smath.” She turned and fairly skipped from the room, grateful and relieved.