“That presumes they will know to look for the suicide cysts.”
“But they are sure to do so, Urzueth. How could we effect such widespread self-destruction without them? And once they have discovered the cysts, they will have a mystery so profound that defies any reasonable explanation. The humans might hum to themselves that they can conceive of reasons for why we broke the Twenty-first Accord and attacked. They can even understand why individuals of our species might choose suicide over the possibility of abuse, even torture, on a lost battlefield. But premeditated, simultaneous, and universal self-destruction? And with no radios to coordinate it? And even among those of us for whom surrender will, in all probability, be safe?”
Urzueth Ragh buzzed slowly, meditatively. “They will see the preparation, and so discern that we had determined from the beginning that, if we were defeated, we needed to conceal something from them—even at the expense of all our lives and equipment.”
Darzhee Kut bobbed. “Just so. They will eventually debrief survivors here or elsewhere who could reveal what we must now keep hidden. For if the humans learn that we knew of them in prior millennia, when their birthright was to burrow the dark between the suns just as we did…”
“…then they will ask why their legacy did not stay among those stars.” Urzueth clicked his mandibles. “Whereas if we do not employ the Final Directive, then they will have no reason to ask such questions.”
Darzhee Kut harmonized. “If our actions fit what they expect, they will be without impetus to seek for the unexpected in us. Our resignation to surrender and negotiation will fulfill that expectation. Conversely, our self-destruction would be a goad to them, a deed that they will seek to understand, and in so doing, almost certainly learn the full truth of their past. Under the present circumstances, they could then easily become more dangerous than we imagined. They would see themselves as the one silently, secretly oppressed species among the stars, long kept from knowledge of themselves, and now invaded to preempt the resumption of their birthright. Like nestlings just discovering the idea of justice and having it violated, how will they act? What will they do to oath-breakers and skulkers such as us?”
Urzueth emitted a faint, ululating two-toned whistle in a minor key. “First Rock-Mother,” he prayed/blasphemed. “We will have given rise to the very thing we strove to prevent.”
Darzhee Kut harmonized and watched him closely.
“Mr. Downing, update from OPCOM.”
Good. The more we know, the better we can negotiate. “Synopsis, please.”
“Admiral Silverstein reports that the enemy flotilla which engaged Rescue Task Force One is dead in space. He has multiple nuke-pumped X-ray laser missiles targeted on every shift-capable hull and capital ship. He will soon be handing control over to Rear Admiral Vasarsky’s Tango Echelon. He has also detached enough Gordon-class sloops to control the drones we now have covering the Arat Kurs’ orbital flotilla. Initial boarding operations are underway in both areas of engagement. He hopes they will be concluded by the time Tango Echelon arrives.”
“Then Silverstein is slingshotting out after Halifax?”
“Yes, sir, but he hardly needs to. Admiral Schubert’s first report indicates that the Arat Kur belt fleet is almost one hundred percent incapacitated. The few hulls still capable of maneuver were overwhelmed by the first wave of drones and high-yield ordnance and were destroyed. However, it is unclear if Schubert’s own boarding teams will be able to safely commandeer the remaining enemy hulls. Time to intercept is long enough that the Arat Kur might be able to regain control, necessitating their destruction.”
Downing couldn’t quite be comfortable with the report. Case Timber Pony and Case Leo Gap had worked too well, had been too seamless in their synergistic timing and effect. Innumerable contingency plans had been drawn up for dealing with high, partial, even low levels of success, but there had been no time to spend contemplating such a speedy and complete triumph. Something had to be amiss, about to go wrong…
“I also have reports via fiber-com in Jakarta that a mix of indigenous insurgents, infiltration teams, and tunnel rats have entered the presidential compound and provisionally secured the enemy headquarters.”
Already? If anything, the successes threatened to get out of hand, were occurring too quickly. “Do we have reliable units inbound on their HQ?”
“Yes, sir. Pathfinder elements dedicated to that target are the Twenty-second SAS, B squadron, and A platoon of the Spetsnaz Sixteenth Brigade. Both are hitching rides with A company of Second Battalion, First Air Cav.”
“Their ETA?”
“Ten minutes.”
Downing looked down at his watch, did the math. That was too soon, now, given the change in plans these rapid successes necessitated. “Tell those units to orbit the compound and secure the surrounding airspace. They are to delay final approach and landing until we arrive to lead them in.”
“Sir?”
“Relay those orders, Lieutenant. I don’t want the arrival of possibly overeager elite troops to fuel the confidence—and vengeance—of resistance fighters. That could turn a nice, calm surrender into a slaughter. We will lead our elite formations in and set the tone as diplomatic, not military. Make sure they understand that. And tell the pilot we need to move up our ETA to Jakarta as much as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alnduul swayed gently toward him as the high-speed command VTOL bucked with a sudden surge of acceleration. “Are you quite sure that this change is safe, Mr. Downing?”
“You mean the speed of our approach?”
Alnduul’s outer lids nictated slowly. “I mean our direct entry into an unsecured combat zone.”
Downing felt a brief spasm of contempt for the Dornaani Custodian, pushed it off with a shrug. “There is some risk involved. That is the nature of war, after all.”
Downing felt as though the large, dark pupilless eyes were dissecting his words, his intents, his psyche. Then they blinked. “So it is. My apologies, Mr. Downing.”
“Your apologies? For what? For asking about the degree of risk?”
“For forgetting what it feels like.”
Downing felt his eyebrows rise. “It must be nice to live in a world where that’s something you can forget.”
“Nice? Perhaps. But worrisome, also.”
“Worrisome?”
But Alnduul had turned to look out the small window to his right, the blue and white of sky and clouds a roiling concave moiré reflected upon his eyes. Downing waited, but the Dornaani did not speak again.
“Have you contacted our ships yet?”
“We have not, Darzhee Kut,” answered the communications specialist.
Urzueth Ragh moved closer to him, hummed his query softly. “I do not understand. If you are determined to keep the fleet from destroying itself, why are you so eager to contact them with news of Hu’urs Khraam’s death?”
“Because if they hear of our capitulation without also learning that the Final Directive is rescinded, the ship masters will presume it is in effect and scuttle their ships.”