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"While the Tchpth are philosophically opposed to conflict in any form, I understand the logic. Effective use of chemical or biological agents would be a significant force multiplier and you need a force multiplier given the difficulties you will encounter fighting the Posleen." The hologram shifted to scenes of Posleen incursions. Tchpth towers tumbled under the hammer of Posleen heavy weapons and charnel pits of slaughtered Indowy were buried by heavy earth movers.
"Unfortunately, that does not give the Posleen sufficient credit. To build a frame of reference for you backward alien vicious omnivores: are you aware, O High Leader of the Unenlightened, that if your cook were to mistake me for a terrestrial crab and boil me for your di
"That had been mentioned," answered the President, smiling at what he had decided was an overly accurate translation by the AID, and reeling from the impact of the images. "Something about incompatible body chemistries."
"Correct. Amazing, even the ill-ma
"You just did a pun in English, by the way. Yes, that . . . dichotomy had come to the attention of some of my science advisors," the President said, making a note. "Do you know why?"
"Not specifically. You realize that we have never had a Posleen corpse to examine?" The hologram shifted to a diagram of a human body, data streaming by in a cascade, then Darhel, Tchpth, Indowy, Himmit.
"Don't worry, we'll fix that problem, doc," chimed in the Vice Commander, the former Marine Commandant, to the accompaniment of grim chuckles. The comment relieved some of the tension occasioned by the less than diplomatic translations and imagery. Even the President smiled momentarily. General McCloy, the new High Commander, looked momentarily thoughtful and turned to whisper to his aide.
"Yes, I'm sure you vicious omnivores will do an excellent job. However, until then, we can only speculate." An image of a Posleen began to rotate in the hologram. The hologram exploded, showing areas known and unknown. The data scrolling down the rim was mostly question marks.
"The Posleen show every symptom of being genetically manipulated, so that is part of the answer. The full answer waits on available corpses, which your senior violent carnivore has so graciously offered for our sacrifice." The philosopher-scientist seemed totally unaware of the consternation his translation was causing in his audience. Still unable to determine if it was simply a matter of over-precise translation or intentional irony, the group vacillated between anger and laughter. The secretary of defense was holding his hand over his mouth while the secretary of state had simply buttoned down a poker face. The national security advisor had his head down, face hidden behind his hand, as he made furious notes. Occasionally his body shook as if he were coughing.
"There is, however, one bit of data specific to the subject. We, too, have weapons of mass destruction. We also have even more stringent regulations about their use. However, in at least one instance, desperation caused a population to attempt biological and chemical warfare against the Posleen. Despite the aid of renegade Tchpth, none of their solutions had the slightest effect." At that pronouncement most of the senior officials sat back in their chairs.
The High Commander traded a look with the SECDEF that combined uncertainty with resignation. The Tchpth had apparently penetrated the whole Weapons of Mass Destruction program. Although the weapons were outlawed by both the Federation and numerous pre-Contact treaties, the old designs and notes had already been dusted off and lab work started. Most of the production would be simplicity itself for any competent chemical firm, of which the United States had legions. The assumption of being able to use WMD—weapons of mass destruction like gas, nukes or biologicals—was central to the entire war plan. Without them, without chemicals particularly, most of the plans to date were out the window.
"I find that hard to believe," said General Harmon, Ground Forces Chief of Staff. "I mean, surely VX would have some effect."
"Actually, General, your VX gas would not even affect me; I could fill this room with it and walk out unscathed. Your vicious and disgusting mustard gas would make me quite ill at lethal concentrations, but nerve gases would be completely ineffective. Despite my oft-noted resemblance to a cockroach or a crab you are much more closely related to your order crustacea or arthropoda than I." The Tchpth bobbed up and down, its eyestalks waving in agitation. It briefly flushed turquoise.
"Your scientists and military commanders are well ahead of you," he continued, gesturing at the hologram. Scenes of perso
"They are already prepared for the first sample of Posleen tissues to experiment on and develop effective gases. However, the problem still remains: excellent and far superior Tchpth philosopher/scientists have failed in that very endeavor, with far greater technology and experience than humans. The Posleen are simply designed to be catastrophically resistant to all possible agents; I feel it would be a waste of your time as well as being immoral. And just plain wrong. The Ldd!ttnt! would not approve." The king-crab-sized arthropoid suddenly spun in place twice, bouncing up and down as it did so. "So say the Ldd!ttnt!"
"Very well, Tchpth Tctchpah," said the President, with a glance at the senior officers. "I understand your position and respect it. I also believe you. We will experiment, fully and openly, with chemical and biological agents when specimens become available, but if there is no initial success we will discontinue our efforts in favor of more lucrative opportunities. And more moral ones. Good enough?"
"Yes, O Munificent and Gorged Leader of the Unenlightened and I thank you for your time. For a ruthless carnivore you are not too unintelligent."
19
Ttckpt Province, Barwhon V
0529 GMT February 12th, 2002 AD
"Well," said Sergeant Major Mosovich after he read the e-mail from Special Operations Command, "I thought this mission was going too easy."
The team sat around the tiny table in the Himmit ship's lounge drinking hot liquids and waiting for the shower. The team had been on Barwhon for nearly a year, resupplied twice by the Himmit, and it showed. The initial quick in and out had been expanded and expanded again until the hard, hand-chosen warriors of yore became a group of near automatons. Gone were the jokes, the kidding, the asides. Every member of the team had lost weight, become pared down to the point that each looked anorexic. The constant cold and damp, and the anxiety of the penetrations were dragging down even the hardest members of the team. Tempers were frayed. Mosovich thought about that as he read the flimsy Rigas had handed him.