“And how could something be implanted in your arm without your knowledge?”
“I was wounded—or so I was told—when attackers broke into my apartment on Mars, approximately four months ago. I did not remember being wounded, but I could not be sure, because they used gas and rendered me unconscious. Now I suspect my ‘assailants’ were operating in cooperation with my own government.”
“This is idiocy,” said First Voice calmly. “The date you cite is prior to your first contact with any other races.”
Darzhee Kut watched as Caine’s eyes became distant and blank. Speaking like a rock-trancer, he countered First Voice’s assertion, “No, that’s not quite right. Richard Downing had come from Earth the day before, with news that the Dornaani had contacted us.”
First Voice warbled a bit of phlegm. “And Downing is what—a seer? How could he foresee the eventualities that produced this moment?”
“It wasn’t he who foresaw all this, any more than it was he who turned my general idea for infiltrating an invader’s headquarters into an actual plan.”
Hu’urs Khraam tone was incisive. “And who was it who foresaw these things?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Nolan Corcoran.”
First Voice’s eyes hid back in his skull for a moment. “The sire of the warrior Trevor and the female Elena? How convenient to blame everything on a dead human who cannot be tasked to answer these accusations. How easy to make him seem godlike in foresight—”
“It is consistent with what is known of him.” The new voice entering the room was momentarily unfamiliar, but then Darzhee Kut realized it was similar to one he had heard while listening to the Convocation proceedings. In fact, it sounded almost like—
A Ktoran life-support tank, so large it could barely fit through the doorway, rolled into the command center, trailing wisps of vapor. Hu’urs Khraam rose: “Apt-Counsel-of-Lenses, this is unacceptable. You agreed—swore—that you would remain closeted during the entirety of the campaign.”
Darzhee Kut realized his mandibles had drooped low in shock. A Ktor? And one who had been on the list of possible alternate Ktoran delegates to the Convocation, no less. Had this Ktor been with them the whole time? If so, that explained much about why Hu’urs Khraam had seemed so certain about the state of affairs between the Ktor and the Dornaani—
Apt-Counsel edged farther into the dim CIC. His synthesized voice was eerily reminiscent of the one used by the other Ktor that Darzhee Kut had heard at the Convocation, Wise-Speech-of-Pseudopodia. “I did agree to remain closeted. But the environmental systems in my quarters have failed. The computers are offline. My promise presumed that you were able to provide a controlled and safe environment. It seems as though you have become incapable of ensuring such control.”
The room’s attention focused on Apt-Counsel’s fuming tank, but Darzhee Kut took particular notice of Riordan’s eyes, that narrowed as quickly as his face went pale. First Voice rose up higher than Darzhee Kut had ever witnessed—higher than he had believed the venerable Hkh’Rkh’s age would allow, and turned toward Hu’urs Khraam. “And here we see why you Arat Kur tolerate human liars or half-liars: because you are no more forthcoming than they are. At what point were you going to inform us that a Ktoran emissary was with us? How many of our stratagems and comments have been repeated to him, or has he been allowed to listen in upon?”
“Calm yourself, First Voice of the First Family.” Apt-Counsel’s exhortation sounded suspiciously like an order. “My inclusion in your fleet was at my behest. Your ally, First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, was not comfortable with the arrangement, but I insisted.”
“Why?”
“To provide security.”
“From whom? The humans?”
“Do you think that just because the Dornaani do not send ships, their influence is not here?”
“There is no evidence of it,” First Voice asserted doggedly.
“Quite right—not until today. Not until your computers failed, and my room’s environmental monitors suddenly ceased to function. What but a Dornaani virus could so easily overcome Arat Kur computer technology, with its many defenses? It did indeed arrive here in him”—the Ktor’s manipulator arm hummed in Riordan’s direction—“which is why you can be sure he knows nothing about it. The Dornaani are too clever to send a weapon in an operative that knows he is either an operative or a weapon. No forcible interrogation or sustained observation of Riordan would have ever revealed the danger lurking in him, because he was kept wholly unaware of it. This is the Dornaani way—and their success here today means that I have failed you. The primary reason for my presence—and my secrecy, First Voice—was that I might watch for Dornaani perfidies without their suspecting that such an experienced observer was present.”
First Voice’s neck shook sharply; clearly, he was not eager to be talked out of his anger or indignation. “So you might say. But how can you even be certain that the virus is of Dornaani origin?”
“Firstly, the speed with which it operated is consistent with their high skills in programming. Secondly, how would the humans have known the Arat Kur’s spoken and computer languages, to say nothing of their data interfaces and systems? Thirdly, the method of operation will provide a final confirmation, which I may establish by asking the senior communications operator a question:” Apt-Counsel turned to the Arat Kur technician. “Are the logic elements corrupted or completely over-written?”
The operator bobbed impatiently, as though finally getting to voice a crucial piece of information. “Emissary, there was no advance warning that our systems were compromised. The virus spread rapidly and then blanked all the linked systems simultaneously.”
All the linked systems? Darzhee Kut almost stammered, “But that means that all our planetside assets: our aircraft, our communications, our PDF batteries—”
“Yes,” the Ktor confirmed mildly. “They too will have been affected. But you still fail to grasp the severity of the situation.” They all stared at Apt-Counsel, all except Riordan, who looked away with a small smile. “The virus spread throughout the entirety of your system, to any linked computers or computer-monitored systems, regardless of their physical proximity. Do you understand now?”
Darzhee Kut understood—and gasped it out, “Our fleet!”
He could almost hear the Ktor nod. “Yes, your fleet.”
H’toor Qooiiz started back from his console. “Rubbled roof! The computer is—it is gone.”
Tuxae Skhaas’ claws stopped. “Offline?”
“No. It is gone. All its data, all its programming, has been written over.”
“Restart the system. It should default to the protected data sectors.”
H’toor Qooiiz turned the machine off, reactivated it. The power indicator illuminated but the system did not start. “It is as I asserted. The programming has been overwritten, right down to the machine parameters.”
“Terminate all external links.”
“We don’t have to, Tuxae. They are dead also.”
Which meant that whatever virus was in their ship had already poisoned every system it touched with a sudden and irreversible lethality. And once it reached the rest of the fleet…
Well, it would take time to travel the commlinks, even at the speed of light. But even if they had been able to send a cautionary message this very moment, that warning could not travel any faster than the virus and would therefore lag perpetually behind its fateful arrival at every subsequent ship. Tuxae’s antennae went rigid. “We are lost. All of us.”