“Everything. You see, the Slaasriithi also used the primer to pass us encoded information about the Arat Kur.”
Downing sat upright. “How much information, Dr. Thandla?”
Thandla looked sideways at Downing. “It is nothing like a dossier, Mr. Downing. It is far simpler than that, almost a puzzle, if you like. Indeed, I only thought to look for it after Ms. Corcoran noticed the Slaasriithi ambassador’s marked emphasis upon the importance of the primer’s supplementary information.”
Downing nodded. “And that is where you found the puzzle?”
“Correct. It is subtle. And quite tricky. Which I think was entirely intentional.”
Gaspard peered over folded hands. “What do you mean?”
“I believe the data was hidden not only to protect the Slaasriithi from being accused of sharing information pertaining to another species. I think their message was also a test. If we did not take the time or were not clever enough to pass that test—well, that served their purposes, too.”
Elena smiled faintly. “So being able to find and decode the hidden message also meant that we were worthy of it.”
Thandla nodded. “Yes, and this is what I found: a single graphic comprised of multiple overlays.” An insanely irregular 3-D polygon appeared on the room’s main display. It looked vaguely like a cubistic python digesting a pig.
Hwang frowned. “What is that? Arat Kur genetics?”
Thandla smiled. “No, it’s—”
“Hot damn!” Lemuel Wasserman’s tone was triumphant. “That’s a 3-D map of interstellar space. Specifically, of the limits of Arat Kur space, judging from the buildup Sanjay’s given us. Which means that all the angles in that geodesic solid must be centered on stars, and the connecting lines between each pair of angles must be proportional to the distances between the corresponding stars in Arat Kur space.”
Downing frowned. “But if you don’t know the distances—”
Lemuel shook his head and rode right over the top of Downing’s puzzlement and Thandla’s attempt to clarify. “You don’t need to know the distances. As long as the proportions are precise, that shape is like a fingerprint. And we know that, somewhere in there, is Sigma Draconis.”
Thandla smiled. “Just so. And here’s the next layer of the puzzle.” Now, at each of the polygon’s articulating points and intersections, a bright star winked into being. Similar bright stars faded in from the darkness within the interior of the shape. Then, the lines joining all those star-points that were relatively close to each other illuminated slightly. Thandla pointed to an orange-yellow point near the jaw of the python. “That’s Sigma Draconis. The stellar color, the angles of incidence and the ratio of the distances to each of the adjoining stars are a precise match.”
Downing folded his hands to keep an eager quiver from becoming evident. “And you know what else those bright lines tell us.”
Wasserman grunted as he started racing through calculations on his palmcomp. “Their maximum shift range. Which will be a value somewhere between the longest illuminated line and the shortest nonilluminated line. Which will be a pretty small numerical range.”
“That conjecture assumes they can’t conduct deep space refueling from prepositioned caches,” Hwang pointed out.
“True,” Lemuel agreed, still hunched over his palmcomp, “but that’s a reasonable assumption.”
“Why?”
“Well, first off, the Slaasriithi would anticipate that question, right? So they’d build a clue into the graphic that some of these lines were not ‘one-shift transits.’ Maybe put some kind of special marker at the midpoint, where the two shifts would be joined end to end. Secondly, we know that both Slaasriithi and Arat Kur technology are an order of magnitude behind the Dornaani and Ktor. So I think we can project that the Arat Kur shift drive, like ours, depends on stellar gravity wells to function as navigational bookends for each shift. You need to start at one star and end at the other.”
Gaspard had folded his hands. “Mr. Wasserman, it is strategically crucial that we do not underestimate the Arat Kur. But your extrapolation—that they are unable to shift to deep space because we cannot—seems based upon a dangerous presupposition regarding the essential parity of their technology and our own.”
Wasserman’s smile was wolfish. “Wrong—because even the Ktor, who are the second oldest members of the Accord and have had FTL capability for millennia, apparently, can’t pull off deep-space shifts, either.”
Downing blinked. “How can you be sure, Lemuel?”
Wasserman shrugged. “Simple logic. The Dornaani have assured us that they can prevent the Ktor from entering our space. But if the Ktor did have the capacity for deep space navigation, then they could get around the Dornaani by going from one prepositioned deep space fuel cache to another, and show up unannounced in our back yard. And if they did that, then we’d know the Dornaani are liars and wouldn’t support their interests anymore. So, if the Ktoran technology can’t handle deep space shift navigation, then we can be sure as hell that the less advanced races—like the Arat Kur—can’t pull it off, either.”
Downing was determined not to let his admiration for Wasserman’s swift deduction show in his face. “So what can you tell us about their shift range?”
“I’ve run all the stellar pairs that are joined by shift-lines. No distance is greater than nine point five light-years.”
“And what is the shortest distance between any two stars that are not joined by a shift-line?”
“Nine point seven. So their maximum shift range is someplace between nine point five and nine point seven light-years. And that confirms our suspicions that they’re operating at something like our level of technical ability. At least within the same order of magnitude.”
“Equally important,” Downing mused, “it allows us to predict their preferred strategic option.”
“What do you mean by that?” Gaspard asked.
“I am referring to the places they are most likely to attack first.”
“And given that shift range, what do you project as their most likely path of attack?”
“They’d start with Barnard’s Star.”
“And then?”
Downing shrugged. “Why, Earth. Of course.”
Chapter Eight
Gaspard stared at Downing with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Why are you so sure they would attack our homeworld—and in violation of the Twenty-first Accord, no less?”
“It is a rather straight-forward deduction, Mr. Gaspard. Firstly, any place where one of their stars is within nine point seven light-years of one of our stars is a possible jumpoff point for a general invasion.”
Wasserman frowned at his palmtop. “I’ve already run those numbers. Unless the Arat Kur were going to take a circuitous route through their most far-flung system”—he pointed to the tip of the 3-D geodesic python’s tongue—“then they’ve got to jump into Barnard’s Star from across the nine-point-two-nine-light-year gap at 61 Cygni. That’s the only place where they can cross the gulf of deep space in one hop, and it brings them right into our home systems.”
Downing nodded. “And Barnard’s Star is also the key system when it comes to isolating us from our best colonies.”
“Okay, I get the danger to Earth,” Opal said with a frown, “but how could they cut us off from all the best green worlds by taking just one system?”
Wasserman’s stylus stilled. “Because all of our traffic and contact with the worlds beyond Alpha Centauri and Barnard’s Star runs through Ross 154. From Barnard’s Star, it’s one shift to Ross 154. Once they’re there, they’ve got the run of our house.”