Trial by Fire - eARC (30 page)

Darzhee Kut heard Yaargraukh’s bronchial huffing and nasal sputtering behind him, hoped Astor-Smath did not understand it as a sardonic and derisive laugh. “It is in the interest of both our races that you complete this project. Once we have departed, it will be a great aid in Earth’s construction of an even more extensive and modern cislunar presence.”

“Our thoughts exactly. Have you seen the mass driver?”

“Only images.”

Astor-Smath motioned for them to follow him to the other end of the building, where a ramp led up to an observation deck. The other Hkh’Rkh went on ahead eagerly. By the time Darzhee Kut arrived at the overlook, Graagkhruud was pointing out the bunkers that housed most of the Hkh’Rkh garrison. “They are excellent positions, built by humans under the supervision of the Arat Kur.” He turned to Astor-Smath. “Servitor being, summon a troop to this place. The First Voice of the First Family requires greater security.”

“As you wish.” The human spoke into his collarcom.

Darzhee Kut edged closer to the handrail—which, for him, was like a high fence—that followed the rim of the deck. He was not particularly bothered by the height, but he still found it difficult to move beyond the overhead limit of the awnings which shaded them where they stood. These roofings were only canvas, but were still comforting.

However, he hardly needed to move to the edge of the gallery to get a good look at the mass driver. The mechanism dominated the tableau. A thick, chrome-silver tube raised on pylons, it rose up from the tangled and browning trees that hugged the western skirts of Gunung Sawal, and sidestepped up and across the slopes of the extinct volcano at an angle that corresponded to an E-NE orientation, ending in an incline of slightly less than forty degrees.

Darzhee Kut half-rotated to face Astor-Smath. “It is an impressive structure.”

Astor-Smath smiled. “And with power from a dedicated fusion plant, it will put a half kiloliter container of up to three hundred fifty kilos into low earth orbit, either for pickup or transfer to higher orbit.”

Darzhee Kut wondered the tactful way to express his assessment. “That is a rather modest payload.”

“Per canister, yes. But, even in our start-up phase, we will be launching one every two minutes throughout a twelve-hour operational day. Once we’ve smoothed out the system and are comfortable with the operating procedures, we will begin to reduce the launch interval and extend the hours. We conservatively estimate that, at nominal function, the driver will lift be lifting high-gee-rated cargos into space at only one-tenth or even one-one-hundredth of the current market cost.”

“Such a complex machine will be malfunctioning more than it will be operating.” Graagkhruud’s dismissive assessment was unusually aggressive in tone. Darzhee Kut flexed his claws.
So, he is made nervous by the humans’ greater technical acumen.

Astor-Smath was utterly unruffled. “It is hard to envision the source of such problems. The mass driver machinery is arguably far less complicated than the rail-guns of warships. It obviates the need for manned launch vehicles, so instead of piloting problems, we have an easy training regimen for the ground crew. There are only minimal insurance fees, since the loss incurred by any single catastrophic container failure is relatively minor. The silver-colored exposure sleeve enables virtually all-weather operation and repair, and the basic payload canisters cost less than twenty-five hundred credits per unit, when manufactured in bulk. And, when they are retrieved and emptied, they themselves can be converted into modular drop tanks for less than three hundred per unit.”

Yaargraukh was also looking at the mass driver. “So the launch canister is actually part of the payload. Ingenious. But I must wonder at your choice of construction site.”

“I do not understand.” Astor-Smath’s voice was mild; his eyes were unreadable.

Darzhee Kut picked up the topic; he had been wondering the same thing. “With respect, Senior Liaison Astor-Smath, the weather in this region hardly seems optimal for the operation of such a system.”

“That consideration determined much of the driver’s design. You will notice how it remains relatively low to the ground for as much of its length as possible: a precaution against storm winds.”

“Still, its girth is greater than I imagined. It presents a large silhouette.”

“The width you see from the outside is misleading. That’s just the exposure sleeve, which protects the rails and accelerator junctures within, and allows workmen to walk or drive the length of the system even in heavy weather. The sleeve is lightweight and fully disposable. In the event of a typhoon, its sections are designed to tear loose and fly free of the mechanism, if the wind speed becomes dangerous to the entirety of the structure.”

“So it is secure from the weather.” First Voice pointed beyond the bunkers housing his warriors and out toward the remains of a charred
kempang
. “But it seems vulnerable to human threats.” The other Hkh’Rkh looked along with their leader and, evidently saw something which caused them to rumble in agreement.

Darzhee Kut strained his multiple ocular lenses into the best distance resolution he could muster. He saw thin, burnt sticks angling skyward among the shattered huts and houses. He extended a claw. “What are they?”

Yaargraukh spoke over Graagkhruud’s disdainful nasal guttering. “Launch stakes, Speaker Kut. And beyond, blackened shells of armored vehicles, cratered mortar pits, skeletons of burnt-out trucks.”

Graagkhruud snorted. “I have read the after-action report. These humans were foolish to try cases with us. Our PDF systems intercepted their missiles and free rockets. Orbital fire eliminated their tanks and troop carriers. And then our warriors went among them like scythes in the reeds.”

“An admirable fight, in which we too had a hand.” Astor-Smath’s comment was as calm as a maître d’s invitation to be seated.

First Voice looked over at the human. “Tell me, Being, do you delight in aiding us against your own kind?”

Darzhee heard the trap in the words and the tone. Of the many human traits and behaviors that the Hkh’Rkh had found difficult to understand, the existence of individuals who would collaborate with invaders was the most difficult. But if First Voice unduly antagonized these key indigenous allies—

Astor-Smath sidestepped the trap that First Voice had laid. “I delight in doing whatever will end this war quickly, minimize the loss of life, and will allow my defeated planet to rebuild itself as quickly as possible. And as I remarked, this mass driver will greatly facilitate that rebuilding. So if some of our corporate security elements were able to better protect it by guarding your flanks and providing targeting information during your assault, we deemed it unfortunate but necessary to thusly take up arms against other humans.”

Yaargraukh bobbed his head in the direction of a mass of ill-clothed humans—mostly male—who had appeared from among the many low buildings and warehouses that were clustered at the western extents of the security compound. “Are they prisoners taken during the engagement?”

“No, they are merely residents of the area. A few are refugees, I believe.”

“And what is their purpose?”

“Garbage collection.”

Astor-Smath’s reply was so unexpected and Darzhee Kut supposed none of the Hkh’Rkh knew how to frame a further, productive inquiry, either. Meanwhile, a second group of humans emerged from the ground floor beneath them, their loose, gray fatigues flapping in time with the shoulder straps of the assault rifles they were carrying at port arms. They angled toward the motley group of locals, marching with a unison and precision that bespoke considerable time spent drilling on a parade ground.

“These are the—beings—who support our warriors?” First Voice’s question was a
sotto voce
aside to Graagkhruud that could nonetheless be heard by all on the deck.

“Yes, First Voice.”

“They all look—very similar.”

Darzhee Kut stared at the humans more closely and noticed what First Voice had called attention to: all the armed humans were extraordinarily alike in height, coloration, build. As they turned to close with the ragged mass of civilians, Darzhee Kut had the impression that their facial profiles were also remarkably similar. Even for humans.

Astor-Smath nodded and smiled. “The First Voice of the First Family has eyes that are as keen as his intellect. Yes, they are not merely similar. They are identical.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

The Hkh’Rkh made noises in their chests that sounded like a combination of revulsion and nausea. “They are Unbirthlings,” one huffed hoarsely.

“We call them ‘clones,’” Astor-Smath supplied. “They make excellent soldiers, if for no other reason than they know no other existence. The are matured quickly and taught only what they need for the tasks that they are given.”

Darzhee Kut listened carefully, decided he had not heard incorrectly. “These humans are not part of a family? Not taught to, to—harmonize with others?”

“They find satisfaction and a sense of belonging by performing their tasks excellently and in unison. They ask for no more than that.”

“Because they know nothing else.” Yaargraukh’s comment was low and rattling, a dangerous sound.

“Which is why they remain happy and untroubled by needless complexities.”

The clones, all wearing shoulder patches bearing CoDevCo’s logo, had split into two columns, each flanking one side of the civilian throng. They escorted it at the double-time march toward the sickly-looking trees and greener slopes that were beyond the blasted
kempang
to the northeast.

“And they are going up there to collect garbage?”

“Yes, but not just typical refuse, Darzhee Kut. The ground there is regularly littered with scraps of soda cans and tattered mylar balloons.”

“That is strange garbage.”

“Not at all. It’s just another part of the insurgency.”

“How so?”

Yaargraukh interceded in a calmer tone. “To complicate any scans attempting to detect small metal objects, such as the enemy’s ground sensors, booby-traps, or personal weapons. Looking down from orbit, or even from a loitering high-altitude observation drone, this rubbish produces thousands of sensor returns. We can sort some of them out as false signals, but it takes time, and there is usually too much uncertainty to act upon one of these signals without sending in a scout patrol to confirm the presence of a valid target.”

“And already, the vermin are fond of ambushing those patrols.” Graagkhruud’s talons came together with an infuriated clack.

From behind them, the sound of an aggravated, oversized hornet rose, approached, shot overhead; a remote operated vehicle with a two-meter wingspan, four tilt-props, and a bulging belly buzzed after the receding trash collecting detail.

“To help them find the trash?” Darzhee wondered aloud.

“To make sure that there are no ambushers waiting to shoot the clones. And to spread chemicals.”

More noise from behind—this time a growing crescendo of heavy, rapid footfalls upon the ramp from the ground floor—caused Darzhee Kut to turn about.

The troop of Hkh’Rkh had arrived, stopping at the head of the ramp when they saw to whom they were reporting. “First Voice of the First Family!” They were in a respectful, even awestruck, crouch immediately. The troop-leader rumble-whispered from his chest. “Permission to speak?”

“You have it, and you are to stand before me. You are warriors to whom we owe much—since you are the only warriors here.”

Even though, as a member of the Ee’ar caste, he was trained to find harmonies with creatures radically different from himself, Darzhee Kut felt First Voice’s dismissal of the Arat Kur war technicians as though it were a physical blow.

The Hkh’Rkh had risen, some of the younger unable to keep their tongues from wiggling out in a brief spasm of amusement at their greatest leader’s backhanded gibe at their ostensible allies.
This does not bode well. If at this early stage, with matters mostly under control, there is so little harmony between us, what atonalities might arise along with serious problems?

“How may we serve, First Voice of the First Family?”

“I see no Arat Kur with you. Are they not assigned to assist our troops?”

“They are, First Voice of the First Family, but only upon combat missions.”

“What mission is
not
a combat mission in time of war?”

“The Arat Kur have—have a different concept of operations, First Voice of the First Family. They call this a ‘security escort.’”

“And they are too important to aid you with it?”

Rubble and scree: more trouble?

“No, First Voice. They may only conduct operations within their combat-suits. These are wondrous devices, but they need much maintenance, particularly in this climate where mechanisms foul and jam frequently. Thus, they are deployed only on missions where we have confirmed contact with, and intend to engage, the enemy.”

The troop-leader’s explanation seemed to mollify First Voice. “Very well. Perhaps we will have some opportunity to see these wondrous combat suits ourselves.”

Let it please the first mother of the first rocknest: No. Please, no.
The troop leader began detailing the deployment of the many Hkh’Rkh on the base and pointing to the less noticeable support systems, particularly the domelike PDF blisters dug in along with the bunkers, and in a ring around the vertipads behind them. Darzhee Kut looked after the dwindling quadrotor ROV and noted again the sickly color of the vegetation towards which it was headed. “Senior Liaison Astor-Smath, I would make an inquiry.”

“Yes?” Astor-Smath, despite his smile, seemed to be even more bored than Darzhee Kut with the troop-leader’s ongoing explication of interlocking fields of fire, overlapping intercept umbrellas, and primary and secondary fallback positions.

“The foliage to the north seems to be turning brown. Is this evidence of a blight?”

Before Astor-Smath could answer, Graagkhruud swiveled around. “No, Speaker Kut, this is evidence of common sense. You saw the remote vehicle that flew overhead?”