Caine's Mutiny, page 65
part #4 of Caine Riordan Series
Karam sucked in a breath through a rictus-smile. “Damn. Sounds just like home.”
Bannor stuck to his original point. “Yes, but until then, you hold the property here. In just a year’s time, you could make huge changes—”
“You misperceive, Bannor Rulaine. The Old Families will not relinquish their hold upon their property and then hope to reclaim it. They will deny our legal right to it until they may bring the matter before the Allsires on Rkh’yaa: a court where the jurists are their peers, possibly their relatives.”
Dora looked up from the sensors. “So when Cai—when the Commodore formally presented you with the spoils of the Challenge, and all the scions agreed, that was all just meaningless theater that will accomplish nothing?”
Yaargraukh’s ears flattened and he made a cutting gesture with his left hand. “No, but what it accomplishes will be registered in minds, not legal documents. The Old Families will wish this incident to be buried, to be forgotten. The lengths to which Jrekhalkar went to legitimate a Challenge that he then twisted and violated in an attempt to secure victory are alarming, even for the most opportunistic members of the Old Families. They hold their power because of tradition, and with us, the core of all tradition is Honor. They have now shown themselves to be so completely faithless and self-serving that it will not only galvanize the New Families’ resistance to them, but create doubt and dissension in their own ranks. For every Old Family scion who is willing to bend or break the rules of Honor to serve their own ends, there are nine who frown upon such degeneracy.”
Riordan folded his arms. “So if it is a foregone conclusion that the Old Family elders here on Turkh’saar are going to ignore the outcome of the Challenge, and that the Patrijuridicate on Rkh’yaa is going to back them up, then why did you accept my offer of all of the property of Jrekhalkar’s Family? Isn’t that going to put you in their crosshairs?”
Yaargraukh’s tongue emerged and wagged fitfully. “As if I am not already? The scions who agreed to the truce and transfer of spoils were relatively young and stunned by both the battle and the reversal of the Challenge. But in time, they, and the elders, will recall and recount and amplify my involvement in these events. I shall be branded a traitor and either exiled or executed. I shall save them the trouble of making that decision, if you will be so kind as to take me from this place.”
Riordan stared. “Are you officially asking for political asylum?”
“I am. You will note that I did not accept the spoils of the Challenge personally, but in trust for the New Families of Turkh’saar. However, the issues of property will not be solved simply because I have departed. They will remain a contested matter as long as there are any New Family leaders here to contest them.”
Duncan Solson nodded. “And are those leaders the same Warriors that accompanied you when you joined us?”
Yaargraukh expelled a long, tired breath. “Unfortunately, no. I must presume that my fate shall determine theirs. If I am branded a traitor, so shall they be. So I must ask if not just I, but also those who followed me here, may seek asylum with you.”
Riordan felt the eyes in the room turning toward him: Puller’s crew was accumulating diplomatic responsibilities and hot potatoes at a prodigious rate. But even peripherally, he could tell that their gazes were expectant, rather than alarmed. “Yes. Of course. But what do you plan to do, once you have left the Patrijuridicate?”
Yaargraukh neck-wobbled. “To work, to teach those of you who wish to learn our ways, and to help find and repatriate our battle-brothers who still hide in the jungles of Indonesia. If your government will allow us to do so.”
Duncan nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Similar terms were offered to any of your POWs who’d be willing to help us end the fighting on Java. Last I heard, that offer had not been rescinded.”
Riordan was still troubled. “But Yaargraukh, what happens to the New Families when we’re gone? If they keep publicizing what happened here, keep pushing for their property rights, won’t the Patrijuridicate start to lean on them? Hard?”
“Possibly so. It has happened in the past. But this time may be different. This is our most productive colony world, but not widely settled by New Families because we could come not as owners, or even homesteaders, but as serfs. If, on the other hand, the New Families were to keep the property rights you conferred upon them today, that would change their attitudes entirely. We have never had so clear and strong a case to make, with so much power to gain if we win. So the Old Families may indeed pressure us, but this time, I suspect we will press back. And that is overdue.” He paused. “Frankly, my greatest concern with accepting the spoils of your Challenge, Caine Riordan, was the consequences that it might visit upon your people.”
“My people? You mean Earth? How does my giving you this property endanger us? Hell, wouldn’t it have been worse if I had tried to hold on to it?”
“Yes, undoubtedly. However, let us conjecture how the Patrijuridicate will perceive—or at least represent—your role in this. Will they not say this outcome—of Old Family property transferred into New Family claws—was what your government intended from the start? That the raiders and then your arrival and the subsequent battle were, collectively, all parts of an elaborate ploy to provide the New Families with enough power—or legal outrage—to incite a civil war among the Hkh’Rkh? And thereby, neutralize one of Earth’s enemies in the last war?”
Caine considered. “And wouldn’t they have said that anyway, even if I didn’t give you the property? Even if there were no spoils or I elected not to claim them?” Yaargraukh nodded. “So then, will the events here hurt Earth or the New Families any more than it would have, simply because we legally gave you the spoils of our success? Will that cause any to believe the conspiracy theory who would not already have believed it?”
Yaargraukh’s neck tremored slightly. “Probably not. I suspect that from the moment your Lost Soldiers began raiding our settlements, all the damage that has followed was inevitable. Which is, I suppose, a testimony to the perfidious inspiration that caused the Ktor to place this interspeciate time bomb where they did.”
“While we’re on the topic of time bombs: what about Ezzraamar? He’s Old Family, but he’s very closely associated with you. Does he want to stay or go?”
“I think he would stay, if he could. But he cannot.”
“Because he fears reprisals?”
“No, not initially. What he fears is that, as the Warrior who had the most contact with me, he will be pressed to bear false witness against me. And against you humans.”
“Against us?”
“Of course. Consider his brief exchange with you when he was a prisoner in the forward operating base. And even more, what he heard his captors discussing when they had no suspicion that he understood their words. For him to tell the truth is to further implicate Jrekhalkar and the Old Family scions in the willful suppression of that information and of substituting lies in its place. It would mean disgrace not only to Jrekhalkar himself, but to his colleagues and his sire.
“So Ezzraamar has a choice between following the path of Honor and telling truths which will result in his ostracization and possible exile, or he may lie and become the cherished tool of the Old Families—and lose his true, private Honor in the process.”
“So he’s opting for choice number three: asylum.”
“Correct. If you will have him.”
Caine looked around the group. When no one made any response other than replying with a wry smile, Dora threw up her hands. “Sure. Why not? The more the merrier.”
“Ezzraamar will be honored to travel with you,” Yaargraukh said solemnly. “Besides, now it will be possible for me to keep my promise to him.”
“Which is?”
“To teach him how to swim.”
Dora’s face seemed to twist around her nose. “And you couldn’t do that here? Seems like you’ve got plenty of water around.”
“Water, yes, but for us, it is safest to learn in a natatorium.”
“In a what?”
“Ah. A pool. We have none here, and there are, I believe, only four on Rkh’yaa. Mostly for special operations training.”
Riordan nodded, turned toward Bannor. “Speaking of special operations, what’s the final status of the tactical nuke you secured?”
Bannor stared at him. “It’s broken.”
“I know it’s disabled; I got the report right after you were extracted from their side of the river. What I’m asking is, how badly broken is it?”
Bannor did not blink. “It’s really broken.”
“Bannor: I need to know if it is still transportable.”
Now Bannor blinked. Twice. “Sir?”
“You heard me: I want to know if it’s safe to move.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to take it with us.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
KAKAAGSUKH RIVER VALLEY AND NEAR SPACE, BD+56 2966 TWO (“TURKH’SAAR”)
The room grew more quiet than Caine had expected. Then again, being tasked to move a potentially unstable nuclear warhead was not generally considered welcome news.
Bannor scratched his head through his thinning hair. “Well, I think we can move it. More or less. But it was a pretty hot warhead to begin with. Can’t say I think much of Hkh’Rkh engineering.” He glanced at Yaargraukh. “Sorry…eh, Advocate.”
“I am no longer an advocate: merely Yaargraukh. And do not be sorry for your frank speech. Until we Hkh’Rkh are free to make similar comments, we shall not improve.”
Bannor frowned. “You have laws against criticizing your own technology?”
“No, nothing formal. But the Old Families have a profound insecurity regarding our technological acumen. It is considered disloyal to praise the accomplishments of another race. Or to criticize our own.”
Riordan leaned back. “So, what do we need to do to secure the warhead?”
Bannor looked quizzical. “Do you mean for transport or for use?”
“Transport. We need it as evidence of just how profoundly the Patrijuridicate violated the Turkh’saar nonmilitarization pact with the Arat Kur.”
Bannor looked relieved. “So you want to use it as an extra poker chip for our side in the blame game that’s going to storm up around this whole ‘incident.’”
“If it comes to that. I’m hoping this particular poker chip is so big that it will convince the Patrijuridicate that they’d be better off not starting the game at all.”
Duncan Solsohn rubbed his chin. “Caine, you don’t actually think that anything we do will be enough to smother word of what happened here, do you?”
“No, but we could make sure that the Patrijuridicate is informed, through unofficial channels, that it would not be in their best interests to pursue the matter too aggressively.”
Bannor nodded. “So having the bomb doesn’t stop the shouting; it just ensures that it doesn’t get so loud that we have to go to war over it.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Karam, are we ready to boost for orbit?”
“Just about. There’s still a lot of reshuffling going on in the wedges.”
“Bringing in all the banged-up chopper parts?” asked Dora.
The room got quiet. “No,” said Caine. “The wounded.” He glanced at Duncan who, after losing the Proxie two hours earlier, had taken over the grim duty of processing the casualty count. “Do we have final numbers?”
Duncan nodded tightly. “One hundred and eleven dead, fifty-four wounded. That’s just the Lost Soldiers. We had five KIA and eight WIA among the Cold Guard.”
Karam leaned far back in his acceleration couch. “Damn, that’s pretty lopsided: usually it’s far more wounded than dead. I know the Hkh’Rkh weapons are powerful, but—”
“It wasn’t their weapons,” Duncan broke in. “It wasn’t even the railgun strikes or front-line losses, although the casualties in the Dugouts were awful. Mostly, it was our inability to keep up with the medevac calls, particularly after the stellar flare grounded our choppers. More than half of our dead could have been saved, but their golden hour came and went before we could get the angel flights started again.”
The room was quiet. Riordan glanced at Yaargraukh, who was sitting in the relaxed squat typical of his species. No one had counted the Hkh’Rkh dead, and the remaining Warriors had no way to recover them all. There were more bodies to collect than ambulatory Hkh’Rkh left to collect them. But, by all the estimates Caine had seen, their losses had been almost an order of magnitude greater than the humans. What that meant in terms of the colony’s ability to continue to provide for itself was beyond his reckoning and too sensitive a topic to bring up with Yaargraukh.
Riordan looked up. “So how many survivors are we loading?”
Duncan glanced at his dataslate. “Three hundred and eight all told.”
Caine nodded, managed to resist the urge to hang his head. Three hundred and eight. There had been four hundred and thirty-two survivors remaining when they had commenced planetfall. And yet everyone—the Lost Soldiers most of all—were calling this a victory. A victory. For a moment, Riordan feared he might laugh out loud. Or vomit. Maybe both. “And Dr. Sleeman?”
“They just found her and dusted off, sir. ETA twenty minutes.”
He turned to Dora, whose expression was a little less hard-bitten than usual. “How much site cleanup are we really going to be able to manage, Ms. Veriden?”
She frowned, appeared not to want to make her report. “I’m sorry, Commodore: there’s simply no way to sanitize the battlefield. Or the Site. It would take weeks combing the undergrowth just to find all the spent brass, all the medical disposables, all the busted parts that fell off crippled helicopters. But even if we did all that, there’s a lot of material evidence we just can’t get to without excavating equipment—or a company of coroners.”
Riordan understood her reference to the excavating equipment—the railgun strikes had buried bodies and equipment under hundreds of tons of debris—but: “Coroners?”
“The Hkh’Rkh dead, sir. It would be pretty difficult to retrieve all the expended rounds and shrapnel lodged in their bodies.”
Riordan’s stomach knotted: he hadn’t thought of that. Maybe because he hadn’t wanted to. “Okay, Dora. Just have our people collect the largest pieces of debris and load them up. We’ll report we did our best. If Downing isn’t happy, he can come out here with a broom.”
“Okay, but one last item, sir.”
“Yes?”
“The mass grave, sir. That alone holds eighty-six Nazis and almost eighty of the Japanese. And then there are the other Lost Soldiers who were killed before we arrived. You’d hoped we’d be able to exhume them, maybe bury them at sea, like we’re going to have to do with today’s dead…” Her voice trailed off.
When she stopped talking, Riordan realized he’d closed his eyes. He’d been responsible for disposing of bodies in Java: you didn’t command insurgents without suffering casualties, sometimes a lot of them. But not on this scale. And it didn’t really matter that many of the bodies in the mass grave truly deserved to be there. It was simply the size of the butcher’s bill, whether it had accrued on his watch or not. Caine opened his eyes, looked at Yaargraukh. “The soil here: will it reduce them quickly?”
The Hkh’Rkh nodded. “Yes. Most of the dermal irritation caused by contact is from high levels of acidity or alkalinity. Given how long they have already been in the ground, it is a certainty that they have been reduced to bone. In another four months, there will be no identifiable remains.”
Riordan nodded. “Then we leave the mass grave as we found it. For the Lost Soldiers who died during operations before we arrived, I’ll leave that up to their officers. If the survivors want to take the time to exhume them, we’ll give them that time—if the Ktor let us.”
Bannor’s voice was quiet, almost gentle. “And what about the Cold Guard? Can we still take their bodies back if we don’t take those of the Lost Soldiers, too?”
Riordan resisted the urge to close his eyes again. “Yes. Those men and women still have families who remember them, and there will be inquiries. Besides, we brought them and we have the capacity to take them back home. But the Lost Soldiers—” He waved his hand in the direction of the River Kakaagsukh. “There are just too many of their dead. We can’t take them all. We can’t.” He stopped before he repeated himself again.
Karam broke the silence. “Well, there’s one piece of happy news: the Ktoran craft that fired the railgun rounds is now accelerating out of orbit.”
Tygg smiled. “Nice to see them running scared.”
“More like running to catch the last ride home. It seems the advancing Slaasriithi recon drones spooked the four Ktoran signatures out near the belt. They’re moving off.”
Riordan nodded. “I’m pretty sure the two weaker signatures will prove to be decoys, probably mounted on shuttles and fueled by a portable reactor.”
“Shuttles?” Miles O’Garran echoed. “Why are you so sure they’re on shuttles?”
Before Riordan could figure a polite way to respond, Karam chose a far more direct approach. “Because, genius, unless you were asleep during the recent radio exchange, the bad-guy-in-chief identified himself as Brenlor Perekmeres. Ring any bells?”
“Can’t say it does—asshole.”
“Stow that.” Riordan looked up at the two of them. “If you two have something to settle, you can take it outside. Later. As in, when we are out of the shit. Which we aren’t. Not by a mile. Fast version, Miles: we’ve heard the name Perekmeres before—well, those of us who read the intel briefs compiled after we were ambushed on Disparity. One of the clones the Ktor commandeered from the Arbitrage survived, and that was one of the names he gave us. Brenlor was the leader of House Perekmeres, a bunch of Ktoran renegades.”
