Caine nodded. “Which means that they’re doing it from ranges greater than fifty thousand kilometers, since we’re not getting any visuals first.”
Downing glanced up. “According to the comchatter, the Ktor are eliminating the sensors from ranges substantially greater than fifty kiloklicks.”
Sukhinin’s expression went from surprise to narrow-eyed wariness. “How much greater, Richard?”
“One intercept took place at one hundred and fifty kiloklicks.”
Sukhinin nodded at Caine. “You have the right of it, then. These svolochi are showing off both their muscles and their keen eyes. To be able to intercept a sensor with less than one hundred grams of metal in it, and no larger than a wine bottle, at half a light-second?” He snorted. “That is not good tactics; that is a dominance display. Particularly since their spies within our megacorporations surely informed them that our microsensors have almost no detection abilities beyond one hundred kiloklicks.”
Caine nodded, watched the death dance progress in the holotank. Lincoln and the two closest shift-carriers were a triad of blue spindles, all making best speed away from the oncoming bogey. Fanning out in their wake were two disk-shaped screens of azure motes: smaller warcraft that had already been deployed when the Ktor arrived or that were now detaching from the cradles of the fleeing carriers. The first screen, mostly comprised of lighter patrol craft — drone-controlling sloops, corvettes, and a few frigates — had formed up around a small hub of destroyers and cruisers that had been scrambled to respond to the false alarm caused by the arrival of the Doppelganger.
The second, larger disk was predominantly comprised of capital ships, mostly cruisers of various marks, with destroyers roving ahead and at the periphery. A steady stream of aquamarine mayflies — drones — were emerging from its outer surface, with slightly larger gnats — X-ray missiles or similar decoys — hanging back behind the bow wave of the formation.
Downing touched his earbud again, confirmed what the holotank was showing them. “We are at eighty-five percent deployment, shift-carriers now at one point five gees constant, heading directly away from the intruder.”
Caine glanced at the single blood-speck that was chasing half a fleet and closing the distance rapidly. “Ktoran acceleration?”
Downing’s reply was muted. “Two point one gees. They will reach our long-range engagement envelope in twenty minutes.”
“Which means we shall be within their demonstrated range in ten,” Sukhinin grumbled.
Gray Rinehart raised a single, silvery eyebrow. “I thought they were here to pick up their ‘ambassador,’ not start a war.”
Caine shrugged. “They might be multitasking today.” Even Sukhinin had a hard time smiling at that gallows humor. “But if they really do mean to fight, they must have more ships around here somewhere.”
Downing nodded tightly. “Agreed. Their abilities are far beyond ours, but they are not gods. Our numbers are too great for them to be able to—”
The door toned twice: coded entry had been requested and automatically approved.
The bulkhead-rated portal moaned aside, revealing a Naval Intelligence liaison. Just behind him were several heavily armed guards, clustered around a tall human male in a day-glo orange jumper. “Mr. Downing, I’ve brought the prisoner as per—”
If Downing’s abruptly outthrust and quivering finger had been a discharged pistol, the liaison would have been dead where he stood. “What the bloody hell are you doing? Why the hell is he here?”
The human in the day-glo orange jumper smiled faintly.
The liaison blinked and swallowed. “Sir, Mr. Downing, I thought — that is, when the XO ordered that I bring all relevant security assets to your situation room, I—”
“Lieutenant, you will listen to every word I am about to utter very carefully, or you will be swapping that nice blue uniform for a duplicate of the orange jumper being worn by our ‘diplomatic guest.’ The detainee you are escorting — Tlerek Srin Shethkador — is not coded as a routine intelligence asset. He is coded as a level 1-A security risk. He is a known assassin and saboteur, and will readily violate his diplomatic privilege to carry out such acts. The special protocols for handling this individual indicate that he is to be kept in restraints and under guard at all times, and is not to be allowed within two hundred meters of any class-one or — two communication, computation, guidance, or weaponry systems. He is presently within one hundred meters of multiple systems of each type I just enumerated.”
Over the course of this clipped-syllable summary, the liaison had flushed, then gone white, and now looked as though he might vomit.
Conversely, his prisoner’s smile had widened slowly but steadily. From over the pasty-faced liaison’s shoulder, the Ktoran said mildly, “It is always nice to be appreciated.”
Downing didn’t take his eyes off the ambassador who had very nearly misled the human command staff into believing that the only possible resolution to the war with the Arat Kur was extermination, rather than negotiation. “Mr. Rinehart.”
“Sir!”
“You will please take charge of this detachment. You will convey the prisoner back to the secure containment facility in cargo module seventeen-D. He is to be returned to his hermetically sealed quarters therein. You will retask Mr. Wu to resume direct monitoring of this individual. Once Mr. Wu is in place, you shall evacuate the air from the cargo bay and leave a full platoon of Marines on level-two alert in the designated overwatch positions surrounding, and leading to, module seventeen-D. I regret to order that you rouse Major Rulaine to command the entire detachment, but he is the best person for this job. Return here once you have ascertained who gave orders for our ‘guest’ to be removed from the secure containment facility. That person either ignored, or somehow missed, the authorization level required to do so.”
As the Naval Intelligence liaison stepped aside, Gray Rinehart stepped forward, drawing his side-arm: a liquimix NeoCoBro machine-pistol. He leveled it at the Ktoran ambassador. “Mr. Shethkador, I trust you are going to be fully cooperative.”
“I have been thus far. This young officer asked that I accompany him to this place. I did so without hesitation or question. I trust that was sufficiently cooperative.”
Rinehart made no direct response. “After you, Mr. Shethkador. Lieutenant, you lead the way back. Detachment: weapons off safety. And leave me a clear field of fire.”
Murmurs of assent accompanied the group back out the door, which sealed slowly behind them.
“That was strange,” Caine said.
“More than strange,” Downing amended, still staring at the door. “That should never have happened. When Major Rulaine was taken off the detail to provide overwatch for your meeting with the Slaasriithi ambassador earlier today, I personally replaced him with a new IRIS striker: Peter Wu, one of the tunnel rats who breached the Arat Kur compound in Jakarta.”
Sukhinin’s frown deepened. “So, this could not simply be a clerical error, a ‘glitch’ as you say.”
“No, it can’t. There’s a reason I assigned Wu to report directly to me as the watchdog over our Ktoran guest. If anyone tried to countermand our security precautions, he was present to inform them that they may not do so unless they have a bloody executive order. Or one from the Joint Chiefs.”
Caine looked up from the holoplot. “So why didn’t Wu call in?” And why is it that, every time the Ktor are involved, there’s always something that goes inexplicably awry? Power plants short out, pacemakers stop working, airlocks burst open, computers malfunction, monorails crash…