Fire with Fire(178)

Trevor was looking around the peripheries of the featureless seats for straps, buckles, restraints. “Uh, Alnduul,” he asked, “just how many gees of acceleration will we experien—?”

“Do not trouble yourself, Commander Corcoran. Just settle back. We are about to begin our journey.”

Caine exchanged glances with the other two, leaned back as he had been told, found himself wondering what their sleeping accommodations would be like, and if the food would be varied enough to—

The hull vibrated faintly and Caine felt the equivalent of mental palpitations—as though his consciousness was shuddering, teetering at the edge of blackness. The next instant, the sensation and vibration were past. Odd, he thought, what kind of preacceleration thrust system would—?

Then he looked out the gallery window and saw that the starfield had changed. Not slightly; entirely. And it was motionless.

It was Trevor who spoke first. “Did we just—?”

Then the Dornaani ship came about—the new star field wheeling slowly past—and revealed the murky sphere that was Barnard’s Star II’s roiling hydrogen-and-ammonia atmosphere.

Caine heard Downing release his caught breath, heard Trevor gulp—a constricted sound—and found he could not put two thoughts together. The implications of what he had seen—instantaneous travel over a distance of sixteen light-years—were still rushing in at him.

It was Trevor who spoke first. “Well,” he said hoarsely, “if Wasserman was here, he sure would feel better about our siding with the Dornaani.”

Caine nodded, spoke to the ceiling. “Alnduul?”

“Yes, Mr. Riordan?”

“That was most impressive.”

“We cannot do it often. It is very expensive and requires us to overhaul what you would call our shift drive.”

What we would call your shift drive? Meaning that it isn’t actually a shift drive? Hmmm . . . but for now: “Even with that limitation, I find it puzzling that the Custodians or the Dornaani Collective feel that any other power poses a threat to them. With a fleet of ships capable of a sixteen-light-year shift from a standing start, and able to make a pinpoint transit to within—” Caine glanced at the gas giant, assessed, guessed “—five planetary diameters of a world, I would expect you to be invincible.”

“Yes, one might readily infer that from our technological capabilities.”

But if such vastly superior technology was still not decisive, then—“So the vulnerability of the Dornaani does not arise from a deficiency in equipment, but will?”

“I am, of course, not allowed to respond to that conjecture directly. However, it is a most elegant hypothesis.”

“Elegant?” echoed Trevor. “Elegant how?”

Downing nodded. “It is elegant in that it resolves many apparent contradictions and also meshes with much of what we saw at the Convocation. The Dornaani do not lack power: they lack the commitment for decisive action.” Downing looked up. “Except you, Alnduul. And, I am guessing, the Custodians in general?”

“Again, I cannot comment.”

Caine frowned. “Maybe not, but given the duties of the Custodians, I would speculate that only the most—er, proactive members of your species would pursue such a career.”

“Another highly stimulating conjecture on which I may offer no comment. However, I may mention this: we Custodians have had much occasion to monitor and learn of the peoples of Earth. And many of us were struck by the similarity between the oath of service that a new Custodian must take and a human axiom, attributed to the Irish philosopher Edmund Burke.”

“And what is that axiom?”

“‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’”

Trevor smiled, Downing blew out a great sigh. Caine just nodded. “Thank you, Alnduul.”

“Why do you thank me, Mr. Riordan?”

“For sharing that with us. And for being who you are.”

After a pause, Alnduul responded, “And who else would I be?” The tone was wry, yet strangely serious, too. When he spoke again, it was with his customary inflection. “We have arrived unobserved, despite your automated surveillance satellites. And yes, Mr. Downing, I am including the small nonmetallic devices mixed in with the debris of the rings. You will experience a gee of acceleration now: we shall have you at your destination shortly.”

* * *

Within the hour, their destination appeared just beyond the terminator of the gas giant: a small white disk that housed the naval base that humans called the Pearl. Wreathed in a thick, white, infamously noxious atmosphere, the world itself was the third satellite of its parent planet, and hence designated C, making it Barnard’s Star 2 C. Or “Barney Deucy,” in service slang. Angling up from it were several sleek silver slivers.