Urzueth’s answering buzz was anxious. “It may occur anyhow, Darzhee Kut. If our rock-siblings are boarded before they can restore their systems, they are likely to destroy themselves, probably with humans aboard. And soon, down here, they will start finding some of our fully isolated troopers becoming sluggish, sick. And you know what they will find.”
Darzhee Kut nodded. “Within forty-eight hours, all their potential prisoners will die of a noncontagious virus that first renders them unconscious and then kills them by producing fatal toxins out of body tissue.”
“And because we have no way of reaching all of them, thousands will die within the same day or two. The humans will, as you say, realize that it is not a disease at all, but a suicide method. So let us reconsider. Why not be safe and destroy the ships, as well? If we cannot prevent the humans from discovering our planetside force’s numerous suicides, then we might as well destroy the concrete answers the humans might find on our spacecraft.”
Darzhee Kut snapped his claws. “No. If we can keep the planetside casualties to a minimum, we can explain that the troopers who killed themselves simply feared capture and torture. We must spend all our energies striving to contact our units. To that end, ask the humans to find Riordan and bring him back here.”
“Why?”
“Because he will help us, and the humans still have radios. We can use those to contact our rock-siblings. If we can prevent even half of our units and ships from following the Final Directive, the suicides of the remainder may appear to be more an aberration than a plan.”
Urzueth Ragh’s antenna snapped erect as he spun away. “I shall inquire after Riordan with all speed.”
“Delegate Kut.” It was the first time anyone had ever addressed him with that honorific; it was thrilling and horrible at the same time.
“Yes, Communications Master T’yeen?”
“I have the ship Greatvein.”
“Who is on the channel? Fleetmaster R’sudkaat?”
“No, Delegate Kut. As you requested, Senior Sensor Master Tuxae Skhaas.”
“Excellent. Tuxae Skhaas?”
“Yes, Speak—Delegate Kut.”
“I must first sing a song of mourning. Hu’urs Khraam’s voice no longer echoes in the rocknest.”
There was a very long pause. “We are ill-fated to be alive to hear such notes, Delegate Kut.” The sorrow in Tuxae’s voice was deep and genuine.
“I have a very new song for your antennae alone, Tuxae Skhaas.”
“I listen, ready to harmonize, Delegate Kut. But your radio has very limited range, and the path of our orbit will soon carry us beyond each other’s reach.”
“So I will be frank. We must not scuttle the fleet.”
“We—have I heard you correctly, Delegate Kut?”
“You must unlearn the hymn we all sang together when we left Homenest. And you must teach this new atonality to all the other ships that you can reach: we must not follow the Final Directive.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Trev?”
“Hmm?” Trevor Corcoran kept his eye on the scope of the Remington M167 he had retrieved from Gavin’s body. Almost eight minutes since I’ve seen a Sloth, but I’m in no rush. Six bagged and counting. And that last one—Stosh would have been proud of that shot: four hundred eighty meters if it was a centimeter. Single round, center of mass. The bastard went down like a poleaxed ox. Welcome to Earth, motherfucker.
“Trevor.” Tygg’s voice was subtly more insistent.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“A report, Captain.”
Yeah, that’s right. I’m a captain now. Probably will keep my rank after this shindig. Glories and medals, too. O, be still my beating heart—
“Heart.” “Heart” made him think of Opal, which made him stop thinking. When he opened his eyes, he found the view down the scope alien, strange, as if he had never seen it before. “Okay. Okay.” He blinked, felt like he was coming out of a general anesthetic. “What’s the sitrep?”
Tygg, his sand-colored beret wet and rumpled close to his head, was at his left shoulder, his eyes steady, assessing. “Best if you come down to hear it, sir.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And we can put Cruz on overwatch up here, give him the Remington. Don’t you think?” Tygg’s hand was already gently cupping the forestock of the long weapon. Trevor noticed that the Aussie’s eyes never blinked.
Trevor nodded. “Yeah—I’m done.” Tygg nodded, averted his eyes as if suddenly embarrassed. Trevor started down the narrow stairs that led from the small fieldhouse’s observation cupola into its shattered atrium. Faces looked up at him, looked quickly away. His impulse was equally divided between a desire to hide his own face from them and to tell them to fuck off. Frozen into immobility between these two diametrically opposed urges, he managed to simply descend, silently, into their midst.
“Reports,” he ordered.
Ayala started. “Outer perimeter secure. Our biggest problem is locals wanting to get in and trash this place. It’s pretty ugly out there.”
“What about the hunter-killer squads the Sloths sent out?”
“Scattered reports. Lots of them are still active, but running out of steam. A lot more have been wiped out. Some tried to lift their own vehicles to make a run for orbit or elsewhere. We really don’t know. Our flyboys were too busy shooting them into small fluttering pieces.”
Trevor nodded, turned to O’Garran. “Relief forces?”
“According to the latest fiber-com update, ETA is now six minutes.”
“Vertipads?”
“Secured. Lieutenant Winfield and most of Commander Ayala’s SEALs are working as cadre with ex-military insurgents to maintain a dedicated overwatch on the ’pads.”
Trevor was preparing to move on to Rulaine for the internal security report, heard O’Garran clear his throat. “Something else, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. Although we’re expecting the SAS and First Air Cav to be the first wave in, according to my latest intel update, their landing has been redesignated as the arrival of a ‘high-security diplomatic mission,’ not a part of the general assault.”
“Who’s leading this diplomatic mission?”
“I have no word on that, sir. But the Confederation clearance classification is listed as 01A1B.”
Jesus. “Sergeant, you are to send all your remaining forces to the vertipads. I want them deployed as two concentric perimeters, placements and range at Lieutenant Winfield’s discretion. And Sergeant O’Garran?”
“Sir?”
“You stay with us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bannor?”
Rulaine swept an arm out over the esplanade. “Interior is all quiet. No sniping incidents, not even any thermal signatures that aren’t us or human workers. The undercover insurgents among the staff have made contact with us, confirm our suspicions that the only Hkh’Rkh left within these walls are the three we have captive and the dead.”
“And the Arat Kur?”
“Most are holed up in their billets or are back near Lieutenant Wu in their headquarters.”
“Any resistance from the others?”
“Not a peep. External reports tell the same story. The Arat Kur have ceased all offensive operations. Possibly due to illness.”
Trevor swiveled back toward Rulaine. “Illness?”
“Yes sir. Scattered intel suggests that here, and at their other cantonments, an increasing number of Arat Kur are acting sluggish, distracted.”