“We are in a far orbit about your homeworld.”
Darzhee Kut rose slowly from his comfortable crouch. “That cannot be. By counting meals and sleep cycles, I estimate it has been ninety-five days since we departed your home system.”
“That’s an excellent estimate, Darzhee Kut. This is the ninety-third day.”
“Then it is impossible for you to have reached Homenest, or what you call Sigma Draconis Two. Even for us, with our greater shift range and shorter preacceleration times, it would take much longer to make such a journey. And for your ships, the fastest way to reach us still required nine shifts. The better part of a year.”
“You know the star charts, and their strategic implications, perfectly, Darzhee Kut. But that is not the course we took to get to Sigma Draconis Two.”
Darzhee found that the six claws holding him up were tense, quivering. “It is the only one you can take, the only one possible for your technology.”
“For our technology, yes. For Dornaani technology, no.”
Darzhee Kut felt the cold floor come up under him, slap his belly-plate. “They modified your engines.”
“No, just the Wasserman field-effect generator. And they could only do it to certain of our shift-carriers—the Commonwealth, Federation, and Union designs were advanced enough to make use of the greater control and precision of the Dornaani guidance, containment, and navigation systems.”
Darzhee Kut saw the room again, as if it was reappearing from out of a fog. “So, you made deep-space shifts.”
“Correct. From Earth we shifted to a deep space site with two carriers—one from TOCIO, one a commandeered CoDevCo ship—carrying nothing but fuel. They served as tankers for the rest of our fleet, which shifted on to V1581 Cygni2.”
“Which is only eight light-years from Homenest.”
“Eight point two five, to be exact.”
Rotting flesh and plague, it is true. Humans are hovering over Homenest. The ravagers had returned, after having repulsed an invasion of their homeworld. Darzhee Kut felt lower digestive juices rise through the valves that led into his first stomach, clamped them down. “How many ships?” It came out sounding like a pebble-choked gargle.
Riordan shrugged. “Five shift carriers—two Commonwealth, two Federation, one Union—fitted to capacity with capital ships, ordnance, transatmospheric attack craft, commandos. And we used two of your shift-carriers, as well.”
Darzhee Kut felt his eyelenses grind against each other until they were a quivering, locked collection of plates. The world was an amber blur. “Two of our shift carriers?”
“Yes, one of which was your orbital flotilla’s command ship. We loaded it with a mix of our warcraft and yours.”
“But surely none of my rock-siblings would help you by—”
“No. The Dornaani provided us with control interfaces. We are running the craft ourselves.”
Darzhee Kut half-turned toward the wall again. Zkhee’ah Drur the Elder had once observed that while one is yet alive to complain of misfortune, the greatest of all misfortunes has not yet occurred. But this turn of affairs seemed very close to disproving that ancient axiom. “I take it that using our ships has made the invasion of our systems much easier.”
“Yes, although there wasn’t much of a fight in V1581 Cygni2. Only minor defense elements were present, no shift ships. But lots of useful intelligence. Then we shifted here. That was a sharper fight.”
“I’m surprised you won.”
“Well, since your leaders didn’t think we could hop straight into their laps, they kept most of your defense fleet at AC+54 1646-56. That’s the system that controls the route you, and they, presumed we would have to take.”
“That is only one shift away from Homenest, for our ships.”
“Precisely. That’s why we had to hit you hard and fast here in your home system. We didn’t want anyone shifting out and calling for help. So we used the ships we captured from you as lures.”
“Lures?”
Riordan nodded. “We made it seem like they were still your ships, returning from Earth. Your ships and command personnel took the bait. All but delivered themselves to us on a silver platter.”
“The story you tell is not possible. You would not have been believed, for you did not have our passwords.”
Caine Riordan looked away. “Actually, we did.”
Darzhee Kut rose on his front claws. “They were not stored in our computers, and those of my rock-siblings who had been entrusted with the knowing of them would never have surrendered them willingly to you.”
“They didn’t surrender them—willingly.”
Darzhee Kut’s antenna yanked into his carapace reflexively. Sun-timing, blood-drenched savages. “Your race is unchanged.”
Riordan nodded. “That may be true. But this time, it was my race’s homeworld that was threatened, invaded, fought over. Between the resentment over that, and a widespread feeling that the Arat Kur deserve whatever happens to them, there have been several acts—crimes—against your rock-siblings which are terribly wrong.”
“And will those who performed these actions pay for them?”
“Maybe. Or they might get medals. It is too early to say. At any rate, once we engaged your home defense fleet, the battle lasted about four hours.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. We had all your codes and passwords. Also, from your intact ships, we got a pretty complete picture of how you train your personnel, how you fight wars, how you try to trick adversaries, what you fear and how you try to minimize your weaknesses. Accordingly, our fleet was carrying a quadruple load of extremely heavy ordnance, particularly tactical nuclear missiles and nuke-pumped X-ray laser drones. Altogether, it made for a fairly short battle. Which was good, given how close your other fleet is.”
“And that is why you need me to talk to my leaders. Because despite your victory, you have limited time.”
“Exactly. If we assume that you, too, keep preaccelerated ships as waiting couriers, then news of the attack here could have arrived at AC+54 1646-56 two days ago. Now, best guess and captured intelligence both project that there will be a minimum two-week delay between the time your other fleet gets the message and their earliest arrival here. Which means capitulation must be secured before then.”
Darzhee Kut stared at the human. “And why do you think I will help you to enslave my people? And probably destroy them?”
Riordan rose, came closer, sat within reach of his claws. “Darzhee Kut, I am trying to keep your people from being destroyed. That’s why I need your help.”
“Your tunes are discordant. If my people refuse to capitulate, it is because they are gambling—rightly—that you humans will not want to land and fight in our subterranean home. And it would take a long time—too long—to bomb us into submission, living as we do miles beneath the surface. Besides, I doubt the Dornaani will allow that.”
“Darzhee Kut, everything you say is true, but you must convince your leaders to surrender.”
Darzhee Kut remained silent, hoped the human had learned that this was a polite rejection of his exhortation.
Riordan hung his head a moment, and then looked up. His eyes seemed oddly lusterless. “Very well. You’ll need to see this.” He produced a palmtop, pushed a button on its screen.
Which winked awake, showing four humans holding down a limp Arat Kur, a fifth squirting a mist into its alimentary openings and eyes. It did not seem particularly painful, but the Arat Kur flinched away.
The scene changed, and a timecode at the bottom indicated that just under three hours had elapsed. The Arat Kur was now moving listlessly, unsteadily, ultimately staggering to a halt against a wall.