Caine’s voice arose, was aimed into the rest of the crowd, not at Trevor. “Those of you with the infiltration teams or the fiber-com. Did you hear anything about plans to use a chemical weapon on the Arat Kur?”
“No, sir.” Ayala shrugged. “Scuttlebutt is that no one ever got genetic samples of the Arat Kur.”
Caine nodded. “Yeah, I believe it. All throughout the insurgency, the exos occasionally retreated, but they never left their dead behind for analysis. The one time I saw them retreat without all their bodies, they called in an air strike and burned the kempang down to bedrock.”
“So the Roaches get sick. What of it?”
“Maybe nothing, Trevor—but if a whole lot of them are succumbing to some kind of disease or malaise right now, it might not be coincidence.”
“Trev.” It was Elena, her voice coming from behind, not much more than a whisper. “Caine is also the ambassador to the Arat Kur. If something’s going on, he should be back in their headquarters, staying in touch with what’s left of their leadership.”
Trevor picked up his CoBro assault rifle. “Fine. We’ll escort you to Cockroach central. Tygg, Rulaine: on me.”
Tuxae kept his claws very still as R’sudkaat approached. “Yes, what is it now, Tuxae Hu’urs?”
“Esteemed Fleetmaster, I have a message from Darzhee Kut.”
“A message to me? From him? Very well. What is it?”
“Delegate Kut sends his compliments and informs you that the Final Directive has been rescinded.”
For a long moment, R’sudkaat did not move. Then he started forward, claws half raised. “Rescind the Final Directive? And since when is Kut titled Delegate?”
“Since Hu’urs Khraam sang his last note, some minutes ago.”
R’sudkaat rocked back as though struck between the eyes, which roved in the direction of H’toor Qooiiz’s empty couch, as if searching for some rock-sibling who would sing a different song than this, would negate and drown out the dirge that Tuxae sang. “This cannot be.”
“So I thought also, but it is true. The ground staff has verified his death, as well as Hu’urs Khraam’s conferral of the title Delegate Pro Tem upon Darzhee Kut.”
R’sudkaat was very still. Then: “Preposterous. Hu’urs Khraam would never put the fleet under the direction of Kut. Magma and rotting meat: he is but an Ee’ar!”
Tuxae kept his antennae and claws very still and elected not to point out that he, too, was of the Ee’ar caste. “So he is. But now he is our Delegate in this place, as well. And he orders that we rescind the Final Directive.”
R’sudkaat looked at Tuxae closely, who heard the sifting-sand sound of his commander’s lenses compressing with the intensity of their focusing. “No,” R’sudkaat hummed slowly. “No. I will not do so. Kut’s order shows that he is not our Delegate, but rather that he is a tool of the humans.”
“R’sudkaat, with respect, you must comply.”
“I will not take orders from an upstart Ee’ar.”
“I am afraid you must.”
R’sudkaat raised a claw high, haughty. “You have slipped into sun-time, Tuxae Skhaas, if you think I will abandon our orders and our mission on the word of an Ee’ar. And now I must instruct you to relinquish your post. Until such time as a Nestmoot can be held to determine your complicity in this attempt to subvert the orders and due authority of this fleet, you are relieved of your duties.”
“With respect, R’sudkaat, it is I who must now relieve you of your duties.”
R’sudkaat’s antenna wiggled, but there was no mirth in his voice. “Tuxae Skhaas, your audacity is singular. Comply or I will summon Enforcers.”
“You need not. They are already here. Turn around.”
R’sudkaat did so, discovered H’toor Qooiiz and six Enforcers standing two meters behind him. “Please come with us,” H’toor Qooiiz asked softly.
Stunned, R’sudkaat scanned the bridge: expressionless eyes stared back at him. He turned quickly back toward Tuxae Skhaas. “Have you all gone mad? Have you forgotten the songs of our mothers and their great-grandmothers before them, back unto the rebirth of the Homenest? These are humans—humans! The great despoilers. If they take us captive, they will have access to our best technology, our drives, our weapons. We will be enabling them to cut another swath of terror through the stars. They will invade Homenest, take hostages, experiment upon us, torture us, make labor slaves out of the entirety of our race!”
“They are more likely to do so if, in destroying ourselves, we destroy their boarding teams as well. As might begin happening any moment. We have word that the ships of our counterattacking fleet are even now being commandeered by human troops.”
“But—”
“With respect, Fleetmaster R’sudkaat, I cannot have this discussion at this time. We must try to send this instruction to Orbitmaster Edkor Taak’s flagship. Please accompany the Enforcers. H’toor Qooiiz, please remain with me.”
“Orders, Shipmaster Tuxae Skhaas?” H’toor Qooiiz’s voice was a melody of liquid laughter.
“Given the approach of the humans, my first orders will probably be my last.”
“Then they had best be good ones.”
“Truly spoken. Can we reach the Orbitmaster’s command ship with this radio?”
“We can try.” H’toor Qooiiz’s response was unconvincing, but after fifteen seconds of waiting, the channel crackled and cleared. Orbitmaster Edkor Taak responded personally. He was unsurprised by the news of Hu’urs Khraam’s death, was startled by the naming of an Ee’ar to the position of Delegate, and fell into a long silence upon hearing that the Final Directive was rescinded. Then, in a slow voice, Orbitmaster Taak announced, “Before complying, I will speak to this Darzhee Kut myself.”
“He is no longer in my radio range; perhaps he is in yours.”
“We have no radios remaining other than this one, and we are too far from… planet… to exchange… or messages.”
“Orbitmaster Taak, I believe we have little time to—”
H’toor Qooiiz clicked a negation, looked up at him. “He has passed out of the range of this radio.”
“Any word from RTF 1?”
“Boardings are underway, Mr. Downing. About forty percent of the opposing fleet’s ships have been taken by Joint Spec Ops forces. No sign of resistance whatsoever, even though some of the Roach boats are starting to get their computers back online.”
“Their belt fleet?”
“They were at longer range. Judging from Admiral Schubert’s last report, he’s anticipating first rendezvous in about two hours. And it’s about thirty minutes before our ground-launched teams reach the ships in orbit around Earth.”
“Are we anticipating any problem if either of those enemy formations get their systems running?”
“Not really, sir. We already have their hulls ringed with missiles and ordnance that caught up to them, retroboosted, and is now station-keeping with them in lethal proximity. If they so much as frown at us, they’re ash. Nothing but good news for us, sir.”
Downing looked over at Alnduul, who had not spoken for ten minutes, whose head had inclined to stare down at the Jakartan metroplex that was rushing up at them. There’s always risk, he had told the Dornaani. That was another way of saying that, in war, the news is never “all good.” Downing stared at his watch for the third time in the past thirty seconds, wondered why he was so anxious, why he felt it to be so desperately necessary to link up with the Arat Kur leadership, why he couldn’t think past the one thought that was pushing all others aside. Land this thing, damn it; land it now.