Caines mutiny, p.44
Caine's Mutiny, page 44
part #4 of Caine Riordan Series
Yaargraukh studied Caine carefully. “So. I had suspected this. It was the Germans, the Nazis, who set the pattern of raiding. And brutality.”
Bannor almost never started in surprise. He did now. “How the hell did you learn that?”
The Hkh’Rkh examined the new human carefully. “Deduction.”
Bannor brought up his weapon slightly. “Or do you have hidden bugs, snoopers, seeded among us?”
“No. We do not rely heavily on such sensors, and have none here on Turkh’saar. I deduced the presence, and downfall, of the Nazis, from helmet footage and postcombat forensics.”
Bannor looked still more amazed—possibly as much by the eloquent and composed response as its content. “Explain.”
Yaargraukh did so. Riordan intuited that they were getting the tips of the investigatory icebergs only. But all the pieces fit.
At the end, Bannor glanced at Riordan. “So this is the one you met? The, uh, Advocate of the Unhonored?”
“Yes, this is Yaargraukh: my friend.” Caine answered slowly, determined that each word should be heard in the full context of its meaning. “He is a being of great Honor.” The small ring of humans who’d been gathering remained quiet, but several exchanged looks that were partly surprise, partly doubt. Riordan paid no attention to them. “Yaargraukh, in coming here, I perceive that you have made yourself an outlaw, if you remain on this world. And if you are caught, it seems sure that your life would be forfeit.”
For the first time, Yaargraukh’s black-marble eyes shifted away, and his pony-neck oscillated slightly: a Hkh’Rkh shrug. “That is a matter of no consequence.”
“It is to me. And I would not be worthy of the Honor you have been bold enough to claim for me in the past if I ignored this matter. So I would ask that you do me the honor of accepting our offer of asylum, for as long as we are upon Turkh’saar to provide it.”
Yaargraukh’s eyes disappeared beneath the bony ridges that protected them, then reemerged: the “blink” indicated the depth of his surprise. “You do me much Honor,” he began, “but—”
And for the first time in Riordan’s experience, the Hkh’Rkh paused as if undecided. Something’s wrong: if Yaargraukh wasn’t fully resolved to asylum with us, he’d reject it outright, albeit politely. But he’s hesitating, he’s unsure. There must be a deeper conflict of honor—And then Caine knew: “There are others whose safety has been compromised by your actions.”
Yaargraukh’s pony-nod was small, grudging. “It is as you say. Shortly after dispatching my pursuers, I discovered that I had other watchers: distant relatives from the Fringelands. Among them are the last of my Moiety who remain on Turkh’saar. They had already hidden the body of the first pursuer I killed, then brought me food for my further journey. And before that, they had made their intents to assist me known to the New Family Warriors who had slipped away from Voice Jrekhalkar’s Flag to bring news of the dishonorable path the Old Family scions had taken. By assisting me, and doing so openly, they joined their fate to mine.”
“Then I extend asylum to them as well.”
Bannor stepped forward. “Caine…Commodore, granted: you know this Hkh’Rkh and he’s proven himself to you—but these others? We can’t take the risk of—”
Riordan interrupted Rulaine: he had not taken his eyes from Yaargraukh. “My friend, do you vouch for your companions’ Honor with your own?”
“I do. And they have no love for the Old Families.”
Bannor stared. “Enough to go to war against them on our behalf?”
“You misperceive, comrade of Caine Riordan. They would not be fighting for you. They would be avenging their relatives, many of whom perished in the hard life to which they have been consigned in the Fringelands. The inequities our people face on our Homeworld are magnified a hundredfold here. If by fighting Jrekhalkar, they can break the callous tyranny of the Old Families here on Turkh’saar, they will now do so. They have crossed that line and have claimed themselves Hearthless, even as I now am.
“But you are wise and prudent, comrade of Riordan. So if you would put full trust in my companions, charge me with their direct oversight. We might yet be useful to you, even if we are not directly in combat with our own kind. Your northern flank is all but undefended and unpatrolled. You rightly believe that the River Kakaagsukh cannot be forded further upstream and that it is most unlikely that any of the approaching force could swing further north in time. But such a thing is only unlikely, not impossible. With your observers to monitor us, I propose to take my brethren north to watch for threats from that direction. Or I submit myself to you for confinement, as a prisoner. My brethren will follow me into captivity. The choice is yours.”
Bannor shrugged, leaned toward Caine. “We could call his bluff. Put them all in the brig for a few hours. If they don’t resist, then—”
“Then we will have insulted willing allies who have come to us without preconditions or expectations, Major.” Riordan hated bluntly rejecting what would normally be a prudent course of action, but Bannor did not understand the cultural dynamic at work—not yet, anyway. “I not only trust Yaargraukh’s word implicitly, I trust his judgment. If he had any doubt about his companions, he would not allow them to be included in our offer of asylum, much less as part of our forces for the duration of this conflict. I am also relatively sure from his remarks that he knew them all personally during his youth on Turkh’saar.”
Yaargraukh lowered his head once, deeply. “It is as Caine Riordan says. I know them all, although two were whelplings, still playing ‘coursers and catchers,’ when I departed to commence my studies on Rkh’yaa. And now, they are the last of their families still here, the rest having left or perished from the rigors of their life on the Fringelands.”
Bannor shrugged. “Understood.” He glanced at Riordan. “But let me pick the force that will be monitoring them. Okay, sir?”
Riordan nodded. “With one proviso. I’m putting Lieutenant Commander Enderle in charge of that detachment.”
Martin, who had been a close observer of the exchange thus far, started upright. “Sir? Am I not needed as your adjutant?”
“You are, Martin: you’ve picked up more about our communications and computers than any other Lost Soldier. But now you’ve demonstrated an even more rare talent: interacting with an exosapient without letting xenophobia or fear cloud your judgment.”
“Sir, with all respect, I simply fetched him in a scout car.”
“Yes, and you’d be surprised how many people couldn’t even manage that. What do you think, Yaargraukh? You’ve observed plenty of humans. What is your assessment of Lieutenant Commander Enderle?”
The Hkh’Rkh’s black eyes shifted sideways, studying the young Czech/Polish submariner. “He is extremely observant. He is somewhat talkative, but he is not excitable. Indeed, as a situation grows more serious, he grows more quiet. And his demeanor during our brief interactions was colored by curiosity, not fear or repugnance. Although I am no expert in human psychology or selection of command staff, he seems an apt liaison.”
“How do we contact your companions?”
“I have witnessed your raiders’ use of smoke. Do you still have red, purple, or yellow?”
Riordan glanced at Bannor. Who glanced at Martin. Who nodded.
“Excellent,” Yaargraukh said. He walked toward the table; the security detachment’s Thompsons came up. Riordan aimed a hard stare at them in response. The muzzles lowered.
Yaargraukh pointed at the electronic map. “Activate one purple smoke in this grid block. Precisely two hundred seconds later, follow it with yellow smoke.” He moved his claw tip slightly more to the east and north. “My followers will approach in this region. They will be armed, but will be moving with weapons slung. They will wait for me to arrive before they cooperate with humans.”
Riordan nodded, turned to Bannor. “Good thing the Cayuses are still uncommitted. Pass the word back to dismount their armaments, spin one up, and get Yaargraukh up to these coordinates as soon as we’re done here.”
Bannor nodded. “And how soon will that be?”
Riordan turned back toward Yaargraukh. “That depends upon how much our guest is comfortable telling us about the situation on the other side of the lines.”
The Hkh’Rkh emitted a long, phlegm-burbling sigh. “This is a point of difference in our cultures, Caine Riordan. In most of your traditions, a change of allegiance is complete, and carries no implicit or explicit restrictions. You commit not only your fortunes, but all your information, to your new allies. Among us, it is different. What I have learned in Jrekhalkar’s camp and command tent, I learned only because I was in his service. Among us, changing alliances is inevitable, but to share what was given as privileged information is considered to be among the most dishonorable of acts.”
“Must make it hard on your spies,” Bannor quipped.
Yaargraukh stared at him. “Their lives are usually short. They are universally despised.”
Bannor nodded, evidently accepting that his humor had fallen upon infertile ground. “So, no intel.”
Yaargraukh tilted his head slightly. “No specific data that were imparted to me in confidence,” he corrected. “I may, however speak in generalities about my own observations and activities while in Jrekhalkar’s service.”
Even in the alien voice, Riordan heard the leading tone. “So, in general, what was your role with the local military?”
“Firstly, Turkh’saar only has a poorly equipped militia. My role was as an ostensible second-in-command, but relegated to training. Which was brief and intensive.”
“How brief?”
“Two days. As we travelled.”
Riordan constructed a mental cause-effect timeline. “So when we appeared overhead, your leaders decided to start hitting back harder.”
“Your arrival accelerated a process that had begun due to other events, the most pivotal of which was a large attack upon a town known as Ylogh. I was very nearly captured there, and my adjutant was taken prisoner. Do you have any news of him, by the way?”
Riordan nodded. “We found him caged in the cave complex back at the FOB.” He gestured eastward, down the back slope of the ridgeline. Helicopters of various marks waited there, munitions, water, and other supplies stacked in readiness. Medevac crews—mostly submariners—sat on the crates, waiting just beyond the drooping rotors. “We only had time for a few quick questions. The ‘raiders’ left him there, to show that humans are not mindless savages, that we do not kill indiscriminately.”
Yaargraukh was frowning. “When I departed Jrekhalkar’s camp, either he had not reached us, or knowledge of his return had been kept to an inner circle. Did he know that your raiders were not, in fact, raiders?”
“He suspected it, and our conversation might have confirmed that suspicion for him. But we had less than three minutes together. He convinced me to leave him behind, tranqed, so that your forces would not suspect that we had had contact.”
Yaargraukh’s neck tremored slightly. “He was wise to do so. I hope he has reached Jrekhalkar’s camp and realized that he would only endanger himself if he asserted that you were here to remove the raiders, rather than reinforce them.”
“If he didn’t share that opinion, then how can he change Jrekhalkar’s actions?”
“Gradually and indirectly. You do not understand, Caine Riordan: Jrekhalkar is motivated as much by personal fears and needs as by his resolve to defend Turkh’saar. He and his recently deceased father constructed a narrative that explains the presence of the raiders and keeps the colony united in its action against you. So now Jrekhalkar cannot undo the former without undoing the latter—and he cannot afford that. His life and family fortunes would eventually be forfeit to a Challenger unless he shows himself to be a decisive and successful leader now. As this colony’s savior, he would be beyond ready Challenge, and would have the respect and loyalty of the advisors who could help him navigate the subtler currents of the local clan politics.”
“So,” sighed Rulaine, “we’re pretty much screwed.”
Yaargraukh’s black eyes stared. “I do not understand your expression—‘screwed?’ This is a carpentry metaphor?”
Bannor almost smiled. “Not exactly.”
“Not at all,” Riordan amended. “Let’s return to the questions you may answer. I’m guessing all the armored vehicles we see heading toward us were not part of your codominium agreement with the Arat Kur in this system.”
“Your deduction is correct, Caine Riordan, and it further explains why Jrekhalkar cannot afford to fail. The only outcome which will vindicate his clan’s, and the Patrijuridicate’s, violation of the codominium agreement will be the successful repulse of invaders. It is illogical, but in the thinking of my people, victory here will be the only significant rebuttal to Arat Kur accusations of oath-breaking. The violation will retroactively be deemed essential, since it will have proven to be the indispensable means for achieving victory.”
Riordan allowed himself a lopsided, ironic smile. “Your people aren’t alone in that kind of thinking.”
“Indeed. I have seen similar trends in human statecraft. There is a motto I recall: might makes right. It articulates much the same kind of illogic.”
“It certainly does. And I suspect the hardest violation to explain will be the missiles.”
Yaargraukh’s eyes retracted slightly, slowly: he was becoming cautious. “It will. But I suspect that is a more tangled matter. Certainly more tangled than we might productively discuss here.”
“But later?”
Yaargraukh gave two quick, full-length nods. “Most assuredly.”
“And the nature of the training you provided: artillery and the tactics of maneuver? I presume that since the militia had never had much access to such systems, they did not have much experience with it.”
“You are correct.”
“And I presume you were also teaching them how to operate without radio coordination?”
Yaargraukh stopped, his eyes protruding slightly. “You deduced this from examining our vehicles’ rudimentary communication suites?”
Riordan shrugged. “That helped, but postwar technical intelligence gave us a pretty good look at your comm systems. Your dirtside formations don’t rely much on lascom, except at headquarters level. Our assessment of your operational doctrine is that you find widespread lascom too limiting, too constraining due to the prerequisite infrastructure.” Enderle looked lost. Caine aimed his explication at the young Czech expatriate. “All the redundancy required, all the coordination, all the drones and renetworking to adapt to battlefield losses: it’s a highly dynamic and complex asset management matrix.” He turned his focus back upon Yaargraukh. “All of that delicate support infrastructure is not in keeping with your operational emphasis on simplicity and tempo. So it’s logical you’re willing to rely on radio wherever you can. Just talk into a microphone and go. But you can’t rely on that working against us. Which is why your vehicles are not as spread out as they might be. Your crews are relying on hand signals and other non-laser line-of-sight communications. Not only are our jamming and hacking strong, but we have all your codes from the war. So I’m guessing that you gave the local militia simple, squelch-break radio disciplines and other homegrown codes which, if used sparingly, we might not break in time because they are operation-specific.”
Yaargraukh nodded. “They are what you call ‘burner codes,’ if I am not mistaken.”
“They are.” Riordan turned to Bannor. “That confirms most of our hypotheses, Major. But Jrekhalkar will presume that Yaargraukh has reached us, so he’ll junk the burner codes, too. However, that means the Hkh’Rkh have no choice but to keep their artillery batteries in fairly close formation if they are going to coordinate their fires upon us. And they won’t be sending their fire orders by radio: we’d pick apart a grid coordinate cypher in minutes. So they’ll try to use spotters with scout cars, even runners, to get occasional messages to the batteries in the rear. So their fire correction is going to be slow or nonexistent. Instead, they are likely to range in select targets or map features and then hold fire until it’s needed.”
“It sounds like the First World War,” Bannor muttered. “So we should be able to predict where they plan on hitting us hardest just by watching their ranging fire.”
Riordan shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m guessing that Yaargraukh”—he turned and nodded respectfully to his friend—“thought of that and advised them to reserve several tubes just to walk fires up and down the line, thereby obscuring the actual ranging fires within a larger number of strikes which they are conducting solely to mislead us.”
Bannor glanced at Yaargraukh. Whose neck oscillated lazily: another shrug, this one almost human in its overtones of histrionic ingenuousness.
In the distance, a fast clatter of light rotors began up-dopplering. Riordan looked back toward the FOB, saw a Cayuse approaching. “Looks like our time is almost up, Yaargraukh.” He turned, smiled at the hulking Hkh’Rkh. “Our conversations are always being cut short, it seems.”
Yaargraukh’s tongue whipped out briefly: a grin. “Yes. It has begun to feel like a law of nature.” He turned to watch as the Cayuse set down only thirty yards away. It hardly looked big enough for the Hkh’Rkh to be able to sit in the passenger seat.
When the dust had settled, Riordan put his fist to his sternum and bowed, Hkh’Rkh fashion. “Honor, Yaargraukh.”
Who returned the gesture with a deeper, longer bow. “Honor, Caine Riordan. I wish you success and swift victory—so swift that few of either of our species need pay a Warrior’s final price.”
“Me, too,” Riordan agreed as his friend squeezed himself into the cockpit bubble of the Cayuse.
But I doubt it’s going to turn out that way.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
OVERLOOKING THE KAKAAGSUKH RIVER VALLEY, BD+56 2966 TWO (“TURKH’SAAR”)
