Conquerors' Heritage

10

Long enough, certainly, for her to have changed her mind about what she was planning to do. But she hadn't. And as she walked down the path toward the towering white pyramid, she realized that that fact meant her decision was indeed final.

The choice was made. She would not become an Elder. Ahead, the door into the leftmost protector dome slid open, and Thrr-tulkoj stepped out, laser rifle in hand. "Stand fast," he said, "and speak your name."

"I obey the Protector of Thrr Elders," Thrr-pifix-a said, nodding politely. Thrr-tulkoj was an old friend of Thrr-gilag's, but the ritual nevertheless had to be observed. "I am Thrr-pifix-a; Kee'rr."

"Who will prove your goodwill and intentions?"

"I will," she said, picking out one of the kavra fruit from the rack and slicing it. The first time she'd ever done this, she remembered, she'd almost dropped the kavra at the sharp and bitterly strong taste of its poison-neutralizing juice. Now, with the slow fading of her senses, the fruit seemed depressingly bland.

"And who will prove your right to approach?" Thrr-tulkoj asked.

"Why, you will, of course," Thrr-pifix-a said, smiling at him as she dropped the kavra into the disposal container. "How are you, Thrr-tulkoj?"

He smiled back, a combination of patience and wry humor in his expression. "I'm fine, Thrr-pifix-a," he said. "Come on, now—you know there's a protocol to be followed here."

"Oh, but I did follow it," Thrr-pifix-a said. "I'm not here to talk to any specific Elder, you see. So you're the one who has to prove my right to approach."

Thrr-tulkoj frowned slightly. "Ah," he said. "Well, all right, then. Advance, Thrr-pifix-a, and state your purpose here."

"I just wanted to come and watch for a while," she said, glancing up at the shrine as she stepped forward. "See what the Elders do here, maybe join in a conversation or two. Just... see what it's like."

"I understand," Thrr-tulkoj said quietly. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, thank you," she said. "I can manage."

"All right," he said. "Feel free to take your time. I'll be here if you need me."

He stepped back inside the guard dome, propping his weapon against the inside wall. Thrr-pifix-a waited until the door had sealed shut behind him; then, taking a deep breath, she headed toward the shrine. There were something like forty thousand niches there, identified only by number. But that wouldn't be a problem: the certificate she'd been given at the hospital when she was ten cyclics old had been carefully preserved in the memories book her mother had begun for her two fullarcs after her birth. She could find her fsss... and then all she would need would be a few beats of privacy.

The numbers carved beneath each of the niches were small and difficult to see in the glare of the sunlight. She peered at some of the ones at eye level as she started walking slowly along the near wall of the shrine. 27781—too low. 29803—still too low, but going the right direction. 31822... 33850... 35830...

And there it was, at waist height just before the shrine's edge. 39516: her niche. And resting there inside it...

For a handful of beats she gazed through the mesh screen at the fsss that had been surgically removed from behind her brain so many cyclics ago. Such a small and fragile thing, it seemed to her. So unlikely a thing to have been the driving force behind so much of Zhirrzh history.

But it had. And unless she completed what she'd set out to do this fullarc, it would continue to drive her own history as well. For a long, long time.

Heart thudding in her chest, her tail spinning like a foamed-ceramic mixer, she fumbled with suddenly trembling fingers at the mesh door's release catch. It came open with a explosive snap that seemed to echo across the landscape. She glanced quickly around at the protector domes, her tail spinning faster than ever, sure that they must have heard that.

But neither Thrr-tulkoj nor anyone else was in sight. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the niche and lifted the now loosened door—

And without warning a figure stepped around the corner of the shrine, and a hand darted across to lock around her wrist. "I'm sorry, Thrr-pifix-a," Thrr-tulkoj said quietly, taking another step and capturing her other wrist. "You know you can't do that."

"What are you talking about?" Thrr-pifix-a demanded, her voice quavering with shock and frustration despite her best efforts. "I just wanted to look at it."

"Come on," the protector said, pulling her courteously but firmly away from the shrine. Holding her there with one hand, he resealed the mesh door she'd opened. "Come on," he said again, shifting to a hold on her upper arm and guiding her back along the path toward the domes. "I'll take you back to the rail, all right?"

Thrr-pifix-a looked ahead down the path at the glistening mesh of the predator fence, the bitter taste of failure mixing with the kavra juice on her tongue. Just like that, her one chance was gone. "Please, Thrr-tulkoj," she whispered. "Please. It's my fsss. My life. Why can't I do what I want?"

"Because the law says so," he reminded her gently. "Along with hundreds of cyclics of Zhirrzh history."

"Then they're wrong. The law and history both."

"Perhaps," Thrr-tulkoj said. "It wouldn't be the first time tradition and reality had gotten out of step. But my job isn't to make law here. Just to enforce it." He looked sideways at her. "Maybe you should try talking to the family and clan leaders. Present your case to them."

Thrr-pifix-a flicked her tongue in a negative. "They wouldn't listen to me. An old female, without any status or political standing?"

Thrr-tulkoj shrugged. "You never know. Maybe there are others out there thinking the same thing who just haven't had the nerve to talk about it. Anyway, you're not nearly as status poor as you seem to think. What with Thrr-gilag out studying the Human-Conquerors and Thrr-mezaz out fighting them, the family leaders owe you at least a serious hearing. And don't forget, as soon as Thrr-gilag and Klnn-dawan-a are bonded, she can probably talk to the Dhaa'rr clan leaders for you, too."

Thrr-pifix-a sighed. "Perhaps," she said.

But he was wrong, and they both knew it. No clan leaders were going to take the time to hear the babbling plea of an old female. Not even if they weren't in the middle of a war.

It was a long ride back home to Reeds Village. And seemed even longer.

The last page of the last report rolled up off the display, and with a tired sigh the Overclan Prime turned off his reader. So the initial battles were over. The fourth and fifth Zhirrzh beachheads were now established on Human-Conqueror worlds, with encirclement forces on guard overhead. Two more expeditionary forces were preparing even now to lift off the main staging areas on Shamanv and Base World 11, bound for two other Human-Conqueror worlds, with five more groups being assembled from across the eighteen worlds. The reports coming in from captured territory were fairly glowing with success and victory. From all appearances the Zhirrzh counterattack against this new alien threat was going perfectly.

The Prime knew better. The Zhirrzh forces were in fact teetering on the edge of disaster.

The Prime sighed again, leaning back on his couch and staring morosely up at the overview star chart projected on his office wall. The Zhirrzh people didn't realize it, of course. Probably most of the clan Speakers didn't, either. But Warrior Command knew. And so did he.

Because the Human-Conquerors weren't just sitting there accepting their defeats. They'd been taken by surprise, perhaps, by the vigor of the response to their attack on the Zhirrzh survey ships. But that wouldn't last. Already they were gathering their strength and striking back, more often than not with devastating results. The huge Nova-class warcraft mentioned in the captured recorder had made their appearances, as had the awesomely deadly Copperhead warriors. So far all the attacks had been beaten off, but at a steep price. The Kalevala encirclement forces were down to two combat-ready warships; the Massif forces were completely helpless. If the incredibly tough ceramic hulls hadn't disguised the internal damage, the Human-Conquerors would undoubtedly have been back already to finish the job. As it was, the warriors and technics had some breathing space to try to effect repairs.

But they wouldn't have long. These were the Humans. The Conquerors. They would soon be back.

And unless the beachheads had succeeded in locking a critical component away from them, the next time they came, they might have CIRCE with them.

The Prime cursed softly under his breath as he gazed up at the star chart. They were spread too thin. That was the real summation line here: they were spread too cursedly thin. Worse, they were concentrated in the same general part of the Human-Conqueror empire, the sections denoted as Lyra and Pegasus Sectors. The enemy knew where to find them and could bring all their forces to bear with a minimum of logistical trouble.

What the Zhirrzh needed was something to shake up the enemy, something to diffuse their focus. A bold strike into some other area of their empire, perhaps. Maybe even one of their more populous central worlds: Celadon, Prospect, Avon, or even Earth itself. It would be a risk, but a reasonably minimal one as long as they kept the strike brief. With warships impossible to track through the tunnel-line of stardrive, it would be a trivial matter to sneak across the Human-Conqueror empire to whatever world the Zhirrzh warriors chose to hit. At that point the uncertainties would be due mainly to the unknown defenses they'd find at the other end.

"Overclan Prime?" a faint Elder voice came in the silence.

The Prime looked up, stiffening to a respectful posture. Not just an Elder, but one of the twenty-eight Overclan Primes who had gone before him. "Yes, Eighteenth?" he said.

"Your private chambers, if you please," the Eighteenth said shortly. "There are matters we need to discuss."

"Certainly," the Prime said, a twinge of concern flicking through him as he stood up from his couch. The Eighteenth was about as imperturbable a personality as former Primes ever got. For him to be troubled meant something decidedly unpleasant was in the works.

To the average Zhirrzh the Overclan complex was generally seen as a triumph of cooperation, a monument to openness and honesty between the clans. Cooperation there might be, at least after a fashion; the openness, however, was little more than a cleverly structured illusion. The main Overclan Seating chamber itself was open enough, certainly, accessible to Elders from two family shrines and a dozen of the smaller cutting pyramids. But only the chamber itself was accessible. The two office buildings, with their offices, conference rooms, and other work areas, had been carefully positioned to be just out of range of all of them.

Only the two Overclan pyramids located in the Seating chamber itself had access to the entire complex. And it was regarding those that the cleverest stratagem of all had been created. On the vast open area between the chamber building and the two office buildings was a memorial display of some of the most powerful and deadly war machines the Zhirrzh had created throughout their long and violent history. A highly impressive display, too, with long-range cannon, fighter aircraft, and over twenty of the siege and battle machines that had rolled destruction and death across the battlefields of the three Eldership Wars. A mute reminder of what life on Oaccanv had been like before the creation of the Overclan Seating.

That was what the visitors to the memorial saw. What they didn't see was that two of the siege machines were made entirely of metal. Metal that cast shadowlike spaces which the Elders from the main Overclan family shrine could not enter.

The secure conference room in the Speakers' office building lay nestled in one of those shadows. The Overclan Prime's private chambers lay in the other.

The existence of those carefully positioned shadows was a closely guarded secret, known only to the Prime and certain of the Overclan Speakers. And only the Prime knew that the two inaccessible areas were not, in fact, entirely inaccessible.

The former Primes were waiting when he arrived in his chambers—all twenty-eight of them, in fact, by a quick count as the Prime sealed the door behind him. Another sign that this matter was something serious. "I greet the former Overclan Primes," he said, stepping over to his couch and sitting down. "To what do I owe the honor of this assembly?"

"To a looming crisis," the Twelfth growled. "A crisis which, if not dealt with quickly and decisively, could conceivably rip apart the very fabric of Zhirrzh society."

"Really," the Prime said, eying the set expression on the other's transparent face. The Twelfth, he knew, was inclined to be overly dramatic, as well as seeing crises and disasters beneath every stone. Still, this seemed beyond even his usual pessimism. "Is there general consensus on this?"

"The Twelfth perhaps overstates the case a bit," the Twenty-second said. "But—"

"I overstate nothing—"

"But he is correct," the Twenty-second said, raising his voice, "in saying the problem must be dealt with quickly."

"Then let me hear it," the Prime said, moving to take control of the discussion. Having five hundred cyclics' worth of leadership experience in the same room, he'd long ago discovered, was not nearly as useful or productive as he'd once thought it would be. Vastly different personalities from vastly different eras, yet with the same compelling strength of will that had gained each of them the position of Overclan Prime in the first place. All convinced on one level or another that they should still have a say in the management of the eighteen worlds. "Which of you first heard about this crisis?"

"It was I," the Seventh spoke up. "From one who was once Speaker for Kee'rr, now anchored at the Thrr family shrine with a cutting at the third pyramid of Unity City. You are, I believe, familiar with the Thrr family of the Kee'rr. One of its sons, Searcher Thrr-gilag, was the incompetent fool who allowed the Human-Conqueror prisoner to escape."

"I know Searcher Thrr-gilag, yes," the Prime said. "I'm not prepared to judge him incompetent. Certainly not on that basis."

"He should at least have made sure the prisoner died," the Seventh sniffed. "The Zhirrzh warriors of my time knew to do that much."

"Yes, he could have done that," the Prime agreed. "And in doing so might have found himself and his entire group raised to Eldership by the Human-Conquerors."

"It is hardly a dishonor to be raised to Eldership," the Twentieth bristled.

"It is when we need their hands right where they are," the Prime countered. "If they'd all been raised to Eldership, who would have cared for the injured Mrachani prisoners until the Diligent could arrive? More important, who would have been there to stop the Human-Conqueror warriors from landing and gathering up all of the Base World's records? Are you that anxious to see enemy warcraft flying over Oaccanv?"

"Calm down, Prime," the Eighteenth soothed. "No one's going to blame a searcher for not acting like a warrior under fire. Speaking of Thrr-gilag, were you aware that he'd left Oaccanv?"

The Prime frowned. "No, I wasn't. When was this?"

"Early this premidarc, apparently," the Eighteenth said. "The Overclan location server didn't realize he was missing until Thrr-gilag's brother, Commander Thrr-mezaz, called to set up a pathway to him. It took the location server several tentharcs to track him to a warrior supply ship bound for Gree."

"For Gree?" the Fifteenth asked. "What in the eighteen worlds is he going there for?"

"He's bond-engaged to a searcher working there," the Prime sighed. "Searcher Klnn-dawan-a; Dhaa'rr. I should have thought of that—it was in his file."

"I was under the impression that you were going to hold all the Mrachani-expedition members here in the complex," the Seventh said.

"Searcher Thrr-gilag asked for permission to visit his parents," the Prime said. "I granted it."

"Along with permission to leave the planet?"

"Nothing specifically was said either way," the Prime said. "I wasn't expecting him to leave Oaccanv; but actually I can't see any particular harm in it."

"Really," the Twelfth growled. "A Zhirrzh who holds full knowledge of CIRCE, and you can't see the harm in letting him wander around untended?"

"Calm down," the Prime said. "It's all right. He won't say anything."

"Can you be certain of that?" the Twelfth demanded. "Absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I can," the Prime said firmly. "As I've already said, I've read his file. Carefully. A graduate in alien studies with exceptionally high marks, his behavior and deportment since childhood have been equally exceptional. Granted, he's young and obviously somewhat inexperienced, but he's neither foolish nor impulsive nor careless. More to the point, he appreciates as well as you how devastating a premature disclosure of CIRCE's existence would be. He won't say anything."

"Trust is a noble quality for an Overclan Prime to possess," the Seventh said contemptuously. "It can also be his downfall. May I suggest that we at least arrange for all future communications from this Thrr-gilag to be routed through our communicators here at the complex?"

The Prime waved an impatient hand. "If it would make you feel better, go ahead."

"Thank you," the Seventh said frostily, and vanished.

"Interesting," the Eighteenth commented, eying the Prime thoughtfully. "All that about Thrr-gilag—I daresay it sounded rather like a prepared speech."

"Not preparation; familiarity," the Prime corrected him with a grimace. "As it happens, I've already fought the same battle with the Speaker for Dhaa'rr. Twice, actually. I must say I'm getting a little tired of it."

"Understandable," the Eighteenth said. "I only hope this young searcher is worthy of your trust."

"He's worthy of more than just trust," the Prime growled. "I've seen his file and read his reports, and it's clear to me that he has an exceptionally good mind for alien cultures and behavior. And we're going to need every bit of such insight in this struggle against the Human-Conquerors."

"True," the Fourteenth put in. "Besides which, if he's planning to talk, it's already too late to stop him."

The Seventh reappeared. "The pathway watch is set," he said, throwing one last glare at the Prime. "May we get back to the immediate issue at hand now?"

"Please do," the Prime said, gesturing polite invitation.

"Very well," the Seventh sniffed. "It concerns Searcher Thrr-gilag's mother, Thrr-pifix-a. Earlier this fullarc she traveled to the Thrr family shrine and attempted to steal her fsss organ." His eyes bored into the Prime's face. "Apparently, she wishes to refuse Eldership."

"I see," the Prime said. "And?"

The Seventh frowned. "What do you mean, and? Surely you can see the implications."

"Did she succeed?" the Prime asked.

"No," the Seventh said. "The chief protector of the shrine was suspicious and stopped her in time."

"Then, no, I don't see the implications." The Prime shrugged. "We get crazed fanatics all the time who try to steal their fsss organs."

"Which is precisely where the problem lies," the Eighteenth said impatiently. "Thrr-pifix-a isn't a crazed fanatic—that's what makes her so dangerous. She's a simple, quiet, reasonable old female; nothing more, nothing less. A reasonable person who has nevertheless decided that she would prefer death to Eldership."

"I'm sorry, but I still don't see the problem," the Prime said. "What are you afraid of—that she'll go off and create some wide-scale protest movement against Eldership?"

"Exactly," the Twenty-second said. "Not that she'll do it on her own, necessarily, but that she could become the flash point for such a movement."

"There are philosophical aspects to this, you see," the Eighteenth added. "Aspects that go beyond her particular case."

"Correct," the Twelfth said. "And those aspects—"

"Please," a quiet voice said.

The other Elders felt instantly silent, and the Prime stiffened with respect as the Elder who'd spoken left the group and came toward him. Not just another former Prime, but the First. The Zhirrzh who'd been chosen as their world's last hope by the clan leaders assembled together on that final smoking battlefield of the Third Eldership War. The Zhirrzh who'd stood stoically before them and been stripped forever of all family and clan ties. The Zhirrzh who'd accepted the awesome task of turning generations of hatred and mistrust into first an armistice and then a lasting peace. And who had succeeded.

The First seldom spoke at these gatherings. When he did, they all listened.

"Perhaps you do not see, Twenty-ninth," he said in that same quiet voice, "because you regard the past from too great a distance. You see history as events that happened to other Zhirrzh instead of as a force that has not only molded our society but also strongly influenced the ways in which we think. The three Eldership Wars were, at their core, wars over rights: the rights of common Zhirrzh to have their fsss organs preserved as their leaders already had; the rights of Elders to have their fsss organs protected from deliberate or accidental destruction; the rights of Elders and physicals alike to living space, without one group being displaced to make exclusive room for the other."

The Prime nodded. Yes; and that last conflict was one that was beginning to lift its ugly head again. "I understand, First," he said.

"Good," the First said. "Then consider for a hunbeat what Thrr-pifix-a is really asking. She is asking for Eldership to no longer be a right, but a privilege."

The Prime frowned. That was an angle that hadn't even occurred to him. "I see what you're saying," he said hesitantly. "But can't something like Eldership be both a right and a privilege?"

"In theory, certainly," the First said. "In actual practice, though, it never remains in such balance for long. The Twenty-second is quite right in fearing that other, more radical Zhirrzh will seize upon Thrr-pifix-a's case, twisting it into an attack on Elders and Eldership generally." He gestured to the Second. "It happened twice during my son's tenure as Overclan Prime."

"And once during mine," the Ninth put in.

"And during mine, as well," the Sixteenth added.

"There's no need to list them all," the First said. "The point is that this is not uncharted territory. It's a threat that has raised itself time and again throughout Zhirrzh history, threatening to erode the sense that Eldership is an absolute right that cannot be altered or taken away. If you allow individual Zhirrzh to refuse Eldership, the inevitable result will be Zhirrzh claiming the right to make that same decision not for themselves, but for others. Never mind the lack of a logical connection; it's been demonstrated time and again that that is the direction in which such thinking evolves. The only way to keep that from happening is to make sure we never take that first step."

"And so the very idea must be suppressed," the Prime said.

"Yes," the First agreed solemnly. "As quickly as possible. As ruthlessly as necessary."

"I see," the Prime said, a shiver running through him as he looked around the room. He'd never heard even rumors of such incidents—he, the Overclan Prime of the Zhirrzh people. A ruthless suppression, indeed. "And you're convinced that suppression is the only way? All of you?"

"Do you doubt our word?" the Twelfth demanded, the pitch of his voice dropping imperiously. "Our combined experience alone—"

"Please," the First said again. "Of course we can't guarantee that this is the only way, Twenty-ninth. No one can. But at the very least, any such movement against Eldership would be a serious distraction for the Zhirrzh people. And we cannot afford even a beat of distraction. Not now. Not as we battle for our survival against these conquerors."

"No, I suppose not," the Prime murmured. "Very well. You've presented the problem. Have you likewise prepared a solution?"

"We have," the Sixteenth rumbled. "The problem arises not because of what this Thrr-pifix-a wants but because of what she is: a common, reasonable, respectable person. As you yourself said, there are crazed fanatics all the time who don't want Eldership."

"Yes," the Prime said grimly. He saw where this was going now, all right. "And therefore what we need to do is prove Thrr-pifix-a to be as crazed as any of the rest of them."

"I take it from your voice that you don't approve," the Twenty-eighth suggested.

The Prime looked him square in the face. "No, Father, I don't," he said bluntly. "I don't like using the office of Overclan Prime this way. It feels far too much like an abuse of the power I've been granted."

"Then perhaps you should resign," the Twelfth snapped. "An Overclan Prime who's afraid of his power is of no use at all to the Zhirrzh people."

"Or perhaps he's all the more valuable to them," the Prime snapped back. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it the abuse of personal power that has led to most of our wars?"

"Well stated," the Eighteenth said approvingly. "But as it happens, the abuse of personal power—not yours—is a second problem that you're currently facing. Our proposal is that you solve both of these problems with the same knife."

The Prime frowned at him. "I'm listening."

"It's really quite simple," the Twelfth said. "You have on the one side Thrr-pifix-a of the Kee'rr clan, who wishes to decline Eldership. On the other side you have Speaker Cvv-panav of the Dhaa'rr, whose ambition is clearly to build his clan's power beyond even the height of its old political dominance." He eyed the Prime. "This latter, I presume, is not news to you."

"Hardly," the Prime assured him sourly. "Cvv-panav sees himself as the head of a new Dhaa'rr empire."

"And because of that he must be made to stumble," the Twelfth said. "Not to fall, but to stumble. Here is what we propose."

The twenty-nine of them talked long into the latearc... and in the end the Prime reluctantly gave in. At the least, he told himself, it would reduce the distractions that were being created by Speaker Cvv-panav's drive for power, allowing all of them to concentrate more fully on their war of survival.

And if it hurt an old, harmless female... well, perhaps that was the price that had to be paid.