Trial by Fire - eARC (72 page)

“Yes,” the Ktor confirmed mildly. “They too will have been affected. But you still fail to grasp the severity of the situation.” They all stared at Apt-Counsel, all except Riordan, who looked away with a small smile. “The virus spread throughout the
entirety
of your system, to any linked computers or computer-monitored systems, regardless of their physical proximity. Do you understand now?”

Darzhee Kut understood—and gasped it out, “Our fleet!”

He could almost hear the Ktor nod. “Yes, your fleet.”

Wholenest flagship
Greatvein
, Earth orbit

H’toor Qooiiz started back from his console. “Rubbled roof! The computer is—it is gone.”

Tuxae Skhaas’ claws stopped. “Offline?”

“No. It is gone. All its data, all its programming, has been written over.”

“Restart the system. It should default to the protected data sectors.”

H’toor Qooiiz turned the machine off, reactivated it. The power indicator illuminated but the system did not start. “It is as I asserted. The programming has been overwritten, right down to the machine parameters.”

“Terminate all external links.”

“We don’t have to, Tuxae. They are dead also.”

Which meant that whatever virus was in their ship had already poisoned every system it touched with a sudden and irreversible lethality. And once it reached the rest of the fleet…

Well, it would take time to travel the commlinks, even at the speed of light. But even if they had been able to send a cautionary message this very moment, that warning could not travel any faster than the virus and would therefore lag perpetually behind its fateful arrival at every subsequent ship. Tuxae’s antennae went rigid. “We are lost. All of us.”

“Calm, rock-sibling. Like the
Greatvein
, all our warships and shift carriers have backup systems, completely firewalled from the primaries. Our fleet will not be rendered inert for long.”

Tuxae turned on H’toor Qooiiz. “No, but the instant that our primary system failed, what happened?”

H’toor Qooiiz’s polyps stopped in mid wave. “The plants, the drives—!”

“Exactly. They shut down immediately. The moment the systems controlling and maintaining fusion go offline, the reaction must terminate or there will be a catastrophic explosion. But the danger does not stop there. A minute after the fusion plant ceases to function, our antimatter containment cells will have exhausted their reserve power. If the power is not restored, timers will trigger piezo-electric-fused charges to jettison the antimatter before it breaches containment and annihilates us. Only then can the crew commence a cold restart of the fusion plant, and may we begin the slow process of rebuilding our antimatter stocks.”

H’toor’s usually pleasant voice was a rasping clatter. “And in this case, they cannot take any of those recovery steps until they have ensured the virus is gone—by wiping clean the control systems of every processor on every ship.”

“Correct. And that means—”

“We will all be without power, communications, or control for at least thirty minutes. Probably much more.”

Tuxae settled down on his belly, surprised at how quickly he could become resigned to death. “The humans are clever, but they could not have done this. They had no access to our systems or programming languages until, at most, forty days ago. And it would have taken them weeks just to get a working knowledge of that material, much less defeat our best security software.”

“What are you saying, Tuxae?”

“I am saying that the our fellow-Ee’ar Darzhee Kut was right. It was folly to violate the Twenty-first Accord. This is the work of the Dornaani.”

H’toor buzzed anxiously. “I just hope this is today’s last unpleasant surprise…”

Flagship ESS
Scharnhorst
, near Vesta, Inner Belt, Solar System

In the bowels of the
Scharnhorst
—one of the seven hollow asteroids that some military bureaucrat had designated the Dreadnought class—Admiral Edward Schubert studied the now-distant thermal blooms that marked the position of the receding Arat Kur belt fleet. It was a sight he had been waiting to see for better than ten weeks. Ever since top-secret word had arrived from Barnard’s Star that the Convocation had not gone well, his naturally concealed craft had been compelled to shut down all its primary power plants. Although many meters of rock separated their modest emissions from hostile sensor sweeps, complete safety required a minimum energy ops profile, powered solely by batteries and a handful of fuel cells. But on this long-awaited day, the hiding was finally over.

So far, the day had gone largely according to the projected course of events. First, Schubert had received tightbeam confirmation that Case Leo Gap had been a success and that Admiral Lord Halifax’s Relief Task Force One had arrived. Then came the confirmation from Earth that the ground attack had commenced in Indonesia. Less than an hour later, the Arat Kur had made sudden preparations for departure, leaving two small frigates as a holding force, and not even stopping to recall any of the technicians and the modest military detachment with which they had occupied Vesta’s antimatter production facilities. After the frigates were dispatched, those paltry security troops would be simple fodder for Commodore James Beall’s SEAL Teams, formerly based on Mars, and which had arrived on Schubert’s hull a few days after the discouraging report of the Convocation’s outcome. Those overeager spec ops units shifted from bored and sullen to smiling and hyperactive when they were informed they had been given the green light to retake Vesta, now that the some unknown operative code-named Odysseus had shot the arrow that announced the successful culmination of Case Timber Pony.

Schubert turned toward Beall’s senior field CO, Commander Chris Berman, who was almost tapping his foot in impatience. “Commander Berman.”

The response was immediate, eager. “Yes, Herr Admiral?”

For Schubert, who had worked with SEALs before, Berman was a pleasant change: an American who bothered to use the honorifics appropriate to the nationalities of the persons he addressed. Schubert smiled. “Your men are in readiness, I presume?”

“For weeks now, sir.”

“Very good. Do you need anything we have not yet considered?”

“I could do with a few hunter-killer drones left behind, lying doggo. Only thing I’m worried about is if the Roaches have left any of their own drones on low-power monitoring missions. If they see us make a move for the antimatter facilities, I’d like to have assets to preempt their preemption.”

“Prudent. Operational compartmentalization protocols forbade me to reveal this earlier, but your request is already part of our plans. There shall be half a dozen drone-killing drones in close protective overwatch as you retake Vesta. Anything else?”

“Regular updates, sir.”

“Updates? I do not understand.”

“Sir, we’re on an important mission, but you know where all my guys
want
to be fighting.”

“Earth.”

“Right. They want to squash some Roaches and skin some Sloths down dirtside. They want payback, sir. But since they can’t be there themselves, they are really eager to know how that fight is unfolding, sir. We know that we’ve got to retake this asteroid antimatter facility, rig it to blow if the Arat Kur come back, take ourselves up with it if we need to. They understand the strategic exigencies, sir—but in their hearts, and heads, they’re all back home, fighting tooth and nail for everything they know and love.”

“I understand. Ms. Kauffer?”

“
Ja
, Herr Admiral?”

“Commander Berman is to receive hourly tightbeam updates on both our action against the enemy fleet, and events on Earth. I make it your responsibility.”

Kauffer smiled at Commander Berman and the three hulking SEALs behind him. “It would be my pleasure, Herr Admiral, Commander.”

Chris Berman tipped a salute at her. “Our gratitude, ma’am.”

Schubert feared his smile might start becoming maudlin. “Anything else, Commander?”

“When you come back, bring a case of
Dunkelbier
. We’ll have worked up a powerful thirst.”

Schubert laughed. “I will see what I can do. Now, I shall not hold you further, Commander.”

The American saluted. “So long, Admiral.”

Schubert stopped him. “We should not say so, Commander. Let us say, rather,
Auf Wiedersehen.
”

Berman let his salute fall away, put out his hand. Schubert shook it, hoped that the American would survive. Zero gee ops in hard vacuum had the highest of all casualty rates. To be hit was usually to be dead.

The American looked Schubert in the eye, smiled back.
“Auf Wiedersehen.”
He backed up, snapped a salute, turned to his men. “Let’s see if you guys are worth a case of good German suds.” They left the bridge, a muted “oo-rah” amputated by the closing of the lift.

Schubert turned, looked at the almost vanished thermal blooms of the Arat Kur belt fleet. “Weapons Officer?”

“Ready, Herr Admiral.”

“Release fifty of our hunter-killer drones. Target the two frigates the Arat Kur left at Vesta. I want them overwhelmed and destroyed within fifteen minutes. I require absolute local security.”

“Drones released, active, and seeking.”

“Very good. Commence extending launch tube.”

“
Jawohl
. Extending telescoping launch tube.”

“Engineering, crash-start fusion plants. Magazine, systems checks on all rail gun munitions.”

“Checked and green, Admiral.”

“Communications officer, send to
Victorious
,
Yamamoto
,
Conte di Cavour
,
Iowa
,
Potemkin
, and
Dunkerque
: ‘We have reason to believe that most of the Arat Kur vessels will soon be disabled for as long as half an hour, maybe more. But we commence our attack with the expectation that they shall remain uncrippled, ready for action, and will engage our dreadnoughts with their full armament and vigor. Stand by.’”

“All ship captains have acknowledged, Herr Admiral, and are standing by.”

“
Ausgezeichnet.
Helm, minimum attitude control to maintain a debris-clear sight-picture. Rail gun munitions shall be launched as predetermined: decoys and image-makers first, multidrone release pods next, multistage high-yield nuclear missiles last.”

“Ready, Herr Admiral.”

“On my mark—”

Schubert checked his watch. It would be good to know the precise second when they began to make history.

“And—
mark
!”

Flagship USS
Lincoln
, Sierra Echelon, RTF 1, cislunar space

Commander Ruth Altasso’s report started on a hushed note, ended on a shout: “The Arat Kur systems are—are
down
, Admiral Silverstein!”

Ira nodded, smiled.

“Does this mean their belt fleet is disabled, too?”

“Too early to say, Ex, so we presume it isn’t. We can always be happy to learn otherwise later.”

“Yes, sir. So what do we do with this suddenly drifting Arat Kur fleet, sir?” Ruth’s smile was wolfish.

Ira hated disappointing her, but did. He turned to the communications officer. “Mr. Brill, send signal to Tango Echelon: ‘Sierra Echelon's corvettes will retroboost, intercept, and commandeer all enemy shift-cruisers and select secondary craft. Tango Echelon is to ready its own corvettes, loading predesignated boarding parties and prize crews.’ My compliments to Admiral Vasarsky.”

“And in case the Roach-boats come alive again?”

“I was getting to that, Ex. We will retroboost also, just enough to give us a little more time in optimal engagement range, so we can keep the enemy covered with all weapons. Mr. Brill, once our corvettes are within fifty kiloklicks of the Roach-boats, start broadcasting the prerecorded capitulation orders Commander Altasso is now authorized to release to you. Send on all frequencies. Ruth, in case some of the enemy don’t or won’t get the message, we have strict orders to vaporize any that come back to life without surrendering first. To that end, detail three of our stern wave of X-ray laser missiles to each of the enemy’s capital hulls. All missiles are to commence retroboost to match vector and close to one kiloklick from their individual targets. If any of those Arat Kur restart engines, repower weapons, or even turn on a toaster without our permission, the dedicated missiles are to fire on that target. Transfer control of those missiles to Tango Echelon as soon as Admiral Vasarsky’s van approaches and signals she’s ready for the handoff.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Once we’ve confirmed their hulls as prizes or destroyed, recall all our unexpended drones and missiles. We’ll need to scoop ’em up on the move.”

“Yes, sir. And when you’re ready to assess it, I’ve had Nav ready a plot to bring us around Earth and sternchase Admiral Halifax’s Foxtrot echelon. If we crowd on the gees, we’ll still be able to get close enough to lend him a hand against the bogeys inbound from the belt.”

Silverstein smiled at Ruth’s proleptic efficiency. “That assumes the Arat Kur get control back in time to dodge the shitstorm that Admiral Schubert is sending after them. And even if they do, they’ll have that shitstorm chasing them all the way into their engagement with us. Of course, all that assumes that they don’t turn to engage Schubert’s dreadnoughts—but if they do, they’ve just returned Earth to our possession without a fight.”

Altasso’s grin once again acquired a wolfish cast. “Seems like everything’s going our way, Skipper.”

Silverstein nodded and thought,
Yes, it is. And that’s what’s worrying me.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth

Caine reminded himself once again that, as an ambassador, he could not publicly smile at an enemy’s distress. So he somberly watched the chaos mount in the Presidential Palace’s command center. It had a strong undercurrent of panic as well, the kind which arises during moments of desperate improvisation.

With the possible exception of the now-silent Ktor, Apt-Counsel, the First Delegate was the only other calm exo in the room. “How many uninfected radios and translators have you found?”