“Yes, and another bit of purposeful bragging,” Caine added. “A ship with a system like that is going to have a much better power-to-mass ratio than ours or the Arat Kurs’.”
Downing nodded. “To say nothing of higher operating efficiency and better ready power levels.”
Caine sighed, leaned back. “So they’ve shown us that they can put a tiger worth of hurt in the body of a housecat. But there is one significant drawback to their dominance display.”
Downing smiled. “They’ve shown us how much higher we need to be able to jump if we want to match them. Although I must say that is a high, high bar.”
Caine shrugged. “Which means we’d better get hopping.” He stood into the zero-gee without remembering to be careful — and discovered that, finally, it was starting to become second nature. “Let’s request approach instructions and get this over with.”
* * *
Shortly after they docked with Ferocious Monolith, the Ktoran craft brought its rotating sections to a halt and commenced to spin slowly around its own keel, instead. Caine surmised that was probably because the exchange was likely to take place in the main hull and the Ktor didn’t want to go through those formalities in zero-gee. It was pretty hard to look dignified and imposing while floating, unpowered, in midair. Particularly their returning leader, the Srin Tlerek Shethkador.
The Srin Shethkador. None of the analysts who had pored over every recorded word of the assassin-ambassador’s utterances had been able to determine precisely what a Srin was, nor was Shethkador disposed to clarify the matter for them. It was clearly a title of some importance, but whether it was civil or military, inherited or earned, remained a complete mystery. And it will probably still be a mystery when this day is over, Caine reflected as the armored pinnace’s docking hatch opened to reveal the Ktoran ship’s ingress: a shiny iris valve. After a five-second wait, the plates of the valve dilated with a ringing hiss, revealing four guards in what looked like armored vac suits, unfamiliar weapons at the ready. Faceless behind the black helmet visor that was part of their uniform equipage, one stepped forward and gestured that Caine should approach.
Caine turned and saw that Miles O’Garran was right behind him, the top of his head barely reaching Riordan’s shoulder. “Ready, Miles?”
“Whenever you are, sir. But—”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you want me to do this solo, leave my guys back here to keep the ambassador company?”
“I’m sure.”
“May I ask why, sir? They’re all eager to come along. Real eager.”
“That attitude, while laudable, is why I’m leaving them here. For all we know, the Ktor might try to have some fun with us, try to provoke us into making some misstep. I need a seasoned pro who can keep his head clear and his finger away from the trigger if that starts happening. I know you’re good for that job. The other guys and gals: they seem a little too heavy on the oo-rah and a little light on Zenlike serenity.”
O’Garran smiled. “Good working with you again, sir.”
“You too, Miles. Let’s get this over with.”
The corridors to the bridge were masterpieces of defensive architecture: cutbacks, hard-points, doorways, and angles that had been designed to make any hostile boarding attempts a tactical nightmare. No automated defense blisters or systems of any kind, though, Caine noted. Strange.
Bracketed front and back by their escorts, Caine and O’Garran arrived, without fanfare or much warning, on the bridge of the Ferocious Monolith. They passed through a slightly wider automated hatchway and were suddenly in the surprisingly small compartment. Caine peripherally noted various details: that they hadn’t come through the largest entry to the bridge; that most of the crew were in plain gray flight suits; that instead of appearing extremely advanced, the bridge was spartan. It even lacked the minimalist elegance Riordan associated with higher technology: it was a triumph of ugly utilitarianism.
But Caine did not focus on any of these, or the hundred other details that vied for his attention. The best way to look anxious and disoriented is to gawk at my surroundings. And I’m not here to look like a yokel with wide eyes and hat in hand. This is the lair of dominance-obsessed predators; my job is to find the alpha and look him in the eyes and keep looking. And to not blink. Not once.
Riordan did not have long to wait. A tall, trim Ktoran — much adorned with what were presumably symbols of rank or achievement — turned from a cluster of advisors and faced the human visitors. He stared.
Caine stared back…and did not approach.
The Ktoran frowned. “I am Olsirkos Shethkador-vah, Master of Ferocious Monolith. You may approach.”
Well, I see we’re going to start the wrestling match right away. “I am Commander Caine Riordan, Consolidated Terran Republic Naval Forces. I have been approaching since I boarded your ship. I am here to present my credentials and documents concerning the violations, condition, and repatriation of Ambassador Tlerek Srin Shethkador.” And he did not move, except to hold up the relevant papers: hard copy only, both to follow diplomatic protocol and because the last thing either human or Ktoran computer experts wanted was to have any contact between their respective systems.
Olsirkos narrowed his eyes. “Evidently you do not understand our customs.”
“Probably not. Evidently you do not understand ours, either. I presume you wish to have the Srin returned before I depart?”
“You will not depart without returning the Srin.”
“I will if you do not take these documents from me.”
“Allow me to rephrase. You shall not be permitted to depart if you do not follow our customs and acknowledge my authority in the appropriate manner before we proceed.”
“Allow me to explicate. If I am not allowed to leave when I choose to do so, the Dornaani will see to it that any obstructions are removed. Forcibly. And while you have our cordial respect, your authority is over your own personnel, not us.” Caine kept the documents upraised and motionless.
The crewmembers near Olsirkos — mostly officers, from the look of them — glanced at the master of the ship. In contrast, the gray-suited personnel at the duty stations seemed desperate to focus their attention on something else—anything else.
Olsirkos’ color had begun to change, but then the flush of anger receded — with unnatural speed, it seemed to Caine. As if that involuntary reaction had been explicitly and swiftly countermanded. Instead, the Ktoran smiled. “It would be interesting to see,” he commented in an almost diffident tone as he stepped down from the command platform, “how this encounter would have played out in the absence of your Dornaani warders.”
“Probably less well for me,” Caine admitted, “but no different for you. With or without the support of our Dornaani friends, Tlerek Srin Shethkador will only be returned when proper protocol is observed.”
“And if we had elected to seize your armored pinnace and take him?” Olsirkos approached slowly.
“You would have discovered that there is a an explosive decompression setting for the Srin’s compartment, rigged to a deadman switch.”
“Which you have just revealed, minimizing its effectiveness.”
“True, but you would have less luck neutralizing the bombs on board the pinnace, since they are activated by both command detonation controllers and breach-sensitive countdown triggers. The blast would not only vaporize the Srin, but also severely damage this ship.”