Conquerors' Legacy

27

And even through the fog the trip was suddenly worth all the effort. "Melinda?" he croaked.

"I'm right here, Pheylan," she said, stepping over to where he lay and smiling down at him.

A smile that seemed curiously tight... and then, suddenly, it all came rushing back. The frantic trip through Dorcas's atmosphere, Max's incredibly competent landing, his own incredibly stupid clumsiness— And his capture by the enemy.

He lowered his eyes from his sister's face and looked at her body. Her outfit was all too familiar: the same type of obedience suit he'd been issued during his previous captivity, optical sensors and electromagnetic arm and leg rings and all.

Carefully, he turned his head to the side. A couple of meters to his left two Zhirrzh were looking back at him. "Right," he said, closing his eyes.

"That's not very sociable," Melinda chided him lightly. "Aren't you even going to say hello to an old friend?"

"I am pleased to see you recovering, Pheylan Cavanagh," a Zhirrzh voice said.

Pheylan opened his eyes, lifting his head from the table he was lying on and frowning again at the two Zhirrzh. The alien on the left...

No. It couldn't be. "Thrr-gilag?"

The Zhirrzh flicked his tongue. "I am pleased you remember."

"You'd be a little hard to forget," Pheylan muttered, laying his head back down and looking up at Melinda. Terrific. It wasn't bad enough he'd been recaptured by the enemy; it wasn't even bad enough that his sister, whom he'd come here hoping to help, was in the same boat he was. But it was humiliating to wind up with the same old interrogator again. It was like the time he was hauled back to his summer-camp cabin after his abortive attempt to go over the wall. "So who's your friend?" he asked.

"This is Klnn-dawan-a," Thrr-gilag said, his tongue darting out and curving around to point to the Zhirrzh beside him. "She and I were once bond-engaged. The Dhaa'rr clan has now repudiated that bond-engagement."

"I'm sorry," Pheylan said, since that seemed to be the thing to say. "Was it because I got away from you?"

"For that and for other reasons."

Pheylan grimaced. "Well, you've got me again. That ought to get you back in their good graces."

"In the meantime, we've got work to do," Melinda said briskly, stepping over to a table against the wall. There was some kind of electronic-equipment box sitting there, its face turned toward the wall. "Thrr-gilag and Klnn-dawan-a are here to study you," she continued, picking up a multitool and setting to work on one of the fasteners on the box's back. "Alien physiology must be an interesting field. Reminds me of the way I used to practice medical work on my Carrie Mantha doll. You remember?"

"Uh... sure," Pheylan said cautiously, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to tingle. The main thing he remembered about that doll was Melinda driving him and Aric crazy with it until they'd hidden it in the back of the kitchen revamperator. Unfortunately, their mother had come along and turned the appliance on—

In the back of the revamperator?

He threw a quick glance at the two Zhirrzh, finally catching on. Something was hidden in that box Melinda was fiddling with. Was it his job to distract the aliens while she got it out? "I don't feel so good," he muttered, wincing for their benefit.

"Where do you feel ill?" Thrr-gilag asked, stepping to his side.

"I'm sure you'll feel better soon," Melinda said, coming up beside the alien and laying a reassuring hand on Pheylan's left leg.

The touch felt odd. Pheylan looked down, noticing only then the tattered flight suit and the membrane cast immobilizing the leg. Almost as good a restraint as the Zhirrzh obedience suit Melinda was wearing, at least as far as escape was concerned. Whatever she was up to, he hoped it wouldn't call for acrobatics on his part. "You think so, huh?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"I'm positive," she said firmly, catching his eye and shaking her head minutely. "We're all playing the Flying Muskers here."

Pheylan frowned, more confused now than ever. The Flying Muskers had been the private club the three of them had formed with their next-door neighbor Lizza Easley when Pheylan was seven, modeled on their enthusiastic youthful reading of The Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all; and two of the four people present were enemy Zhirrzh, and what the hell was going on?

"Just be patient, Pheylan," Melinda soothed him. "Patience is a virtue."

Pheylan looked at the two Zhirrzh. Clearly, they'd heard what Melinda had said. Just as clearly, she hadn't been trying to hide it from them. What the hell was going on? "Sure," he murmured back. "Patience is a virtue."

It has been 7.43 hours since Commander Pheylan Cavanagh and I were captured by the Zhirrzh, 4.94 hours since I was brought here to my current location in the former Commonwealth colony, now clearly under enemy control. Four Zhirrzh have been with me since my arrival, while three others have come and gone at irregular intervals. They have been studying me and other pieces of equipment brought here from the fueler.

I also infer from their posture and the movements of their eyes when they speak that there are conduits of communication I cannot detect. I compute a probability of 0.77 that there are three of these conduits, and a probability of 0.97 that they are mobile.

I regret the loss of my peripherals, which occurred when Commander Cavanagh detached my core from the fueler. With active sensors at my disposal I estimate a probability of 0.60 that I would be able to detect the unknown conduits. Again from the movements and reactions of those in the room, I calculate a probability of 0.86 that communication is in both directions, with messages being brought to the Zhirrzh as well as taken from them.

The loss of my libraries has also reduced my language-analysis capabilities to 0.14 of normal, with the result that it has required the entire time of my captivity to collect sufficient data on the language being spoken by my captors. However, I now estimate a probability of 0.80 that I have enough information to initiate communication with them. One of the Zhirrzh has spoken approximately 32 percent of the words I have heard. I choose his tonal pattern for maximum auditory acceptance, varying the waveform structure so as not to duplicate his voice exactly, and attempt to speak.

{Can you understand me?}

All six of the Zhirrzh currently in the room stop what they are doing or saying and look at me. I file the facial and postural reactions, tentatively labeling them as surprise. One of the Zhirrzh moves 0.67 meter closer to me; I note the center pupil of each eye has narrowed to approximately half its previous width.

{Who are you?}

{My name is Max. Will you tell me where Commander Cavanagh has been taken?}

The Zhirrzh takes another step toward me. {Where are you?}

I find the question odd, given that his eyes appear to be directly focused on me. {I am on the table directly in front of you.}

{Inside the metal container?)

I spend 0.03 second pondering the intent of his question. I am of course not contained in the metal container itself, but in the Porterdale lattice within the container. Still, I estimate a probability of 0.70 that the question seeks only general spatial information. {Yes.}

One of the other Zhirrzh steps to the first Zhirrzh's left side. {Are you a Human-Conqueror?}

{No.}

A third Zhirrzh extends his tongue for 0.15 second. {It's a trick. It has to be.}

The first Zhirrzh extends his tongue in similar fashion for 0.23 second. {Are you a kabrsif?}

I examine the unknown word carefully for 0.54 second, comparing it to the other words in my vocabulary list and attempting to interpolate its meaning. But I am unable to do so. {I do not know the meaning of that term.}

{Are you the kassmi'fss of a Human-Conqueror?}

{I do not know the meaning of that term. I have traveled far with Commander Pheylan Cavanagh, and would like to know where he has been taken.}

The first Zhirrzh steps 0.27 meter closer to me. {How long have you known Pheylan Cavanagh?}

I spend 0.04 second reviewing my core database, confirm that information on Lord Cavanagh and his family was among my primary programming. {I have known of his existence for three years. I met him in person approximately twenty-one days ago, during the mission to rescue him.}

{You were present at his rescue?}

{Yes.}

There is a general stirring among the Zhirrzh, and a low-level buzz of conversation too faint and mixed for me to decipher. {What did you do during the rescue?}

{I guided the rescue team to his position. I also performed a primary analysis of the poison in his body as he was being brought from the surface to the fueler.}

{During that flight? While he was in the small fighter warcraft?}

{Yes.}

The Zhirrzh's posture changes, and I compute a probability of 0.87 that he is listening to one of the unknown communication conduits. {Yes, I know. But the kabrsifli stated there were only Human-Conquerors aboard the fighter spacecraft—}

He stops, listening again, and after 4.79 seconds he bobs his head in a short nod. {Yes. You'd better alert Second Commander Klnn-vavgi.}

His center pupils narrow another 30 percent. {Tell him that Thrr-gilag may have been right. That the Human-Conquerors may indeed have kabrsifli.}

"Small probe," Klnn-dawan-a said, holding out her hand.

"Small probe," Thrr-gilag repeated, choosing the instrument and handing it to her. Pheylan Cavanagh was looking warily at the probe, but Thrr-gilag's attention wasn't really on him. Three Elders were still keeping watch on them from various corners of the room. Thrr-gilag had no idea which Elders they were, or whose side they were on, and until they left, he didn't dare allow Melinda Cavanagh to release Prr't-zevisti's cutting from that metal box. She had indicated that a diversion would be coming soon, but what that diversion might be she hadn't said.

"Thrr-gilag," an agitated voice whispered at his ear.

Reflexively, Thrr-gilag stepped back behind Klnn-dawan-a, giving the Elder a little more visual cover from the two Humans. "Yes?"

"There's news from the technic examination room," the Elder said, the words tumbling over themselves in his hurry to get them out. "The Human-Conquerors may have Elders after all—they think they have one in there now!"

Thrr-gilag felt his tail twitch violently. Could that dubious hunch of his actually have been right? "What?"

"Yes—Human-Conqueror Elders," the Elder repeated. "Do you need us to keep watching here?"

Was this Melinda Cavanagh's diversion? Even if it wasn't, it was the perfect opening. "Not at all," he assured the Elder. "The Human is immobilized, and there are two warriors outside. Go on, and take the other Elders with you."

"Thank you," the Elder said. "I'll let you know what they find out as soon as I can."

"There's no hurry," Thrr-gilag said. "I'd rather you stayed there and learned everything you can."

The Elder flicked his tongue and vanished. Slowly, carefully, Thrr-gilag looked around the room. All three Elders were gone.

"What is it?" Klnn-dawan-a asked.

"Our chance," Thrr-gilag told her, motioning Melinda Cavanagh toward the metal box. "Quickly," he said in the Human language.

"I heard something about Human-Conqueror Elders," Klnn-dawan-a said as Melinda Cavanagh set to work on the last two fasteners.

"The technics think they've found one," he told her, looking around the room again. Still clear. "I have no idea what's going on, but this is our chance to sneak Prr't-zevisti's cutting out."

"What's happened?" Melinda Cavanagh asked.

"Something about the technics discovering a Human Elder," Thrr-gilag told her. "But there are no such things, are there?"

She shook her head. "Not unless you believe in ghosts."

"What do Elders have to do with ghosts?" Pheylan Cavanagh asked.

"They're the Zhirrzh version of the afterlife," his sister told him. "I'm told you saw one once." She finished the last fastener and pulled the metal plate off—

And with a rush like smoke escaping from a bubble, Prr't-zevisti appeared.

There was a sharp inhalation from Pheylan Cavanagh. "You've heard everything?" Thrr-gilag asked Prr't-zevisti as Melinda Cavanagh set to work digging the sampler out from where she'd wedged it.

"I have," Prr't-zevisti rumbled. "And I will have strong words for the Overclan Seating concerning the Speaker for Dhaa'rr."

"Only if you can get those words to someone who'll pass them on," Klnn-dawan-a reminded him tartly. "You've heard the situation—Speaker Cvv-panav's agents have the whole encampment legally under their command. Are there any Elders here you can trust to take a message back to Oaccanv without asking permission first?"

"There are several who have nothing but contempt for this kind of clan politics," he assured her. "As soon as Melinda Cavanagh has freed my cutting from the confines of this box, I'll go find them."

"And try not to let anyone else see you," Thrr-gilag warned, "if word gets back to Mnov-korthe before anyone back home knows about you, we could still lose it all."

With a final tug Melinda Cavanagh's hand emerged from the box with the sampler—

And suddenly Prr't-zevisti's face was infused with the most amazing expression of pure joy that Thrr-gilag had ever seen. "Thrr-gilag—my fsss—"

And without another word he was gone.

" 'All is quiet here, Overclan Prime,' " the Elder quoted. " 'There have been no attempts by anyone to enter your private chambers.' "

"Thank you," the Prime said. After that hilltop conversation with Thrr-tulkoj and Thrr't-rokik he'd decided that that possibility was reasonably remote. Still, it never paid to underestimate the subtlety of one's enemies. "Keep alert." He nodded to the Elder. "You may close the pathway."

"I obey, Overclan Prime." The Elder vanished.

The Prime adjusted his position on his couch, gazing out the transport window at the dark landscape rolling by beneath them and feeling like a contact juggler trying to handle five crystal orbs at once. The situation on Dorcas had some serious political implications; but the question of possible Mrach duplicity had a far greater potential for widespread disaster. As soon as he got back to Unity City and secure Elder pathways, he would have to contact Warrior Command and let them know what was happening on Mra.

After that he would have to get hold of Speaker Cvv-panav on Dharanv. Let him know about the Mrachanis and hint to the Speaker that he knew what the other was up to on Dorcas. Perhaps the time was right to strike another deal.

An Elder flicked into view across the transport's darkened cabin. Yet another bored and nosy Elder from the shrines below, no doubt, checking out the group of aircraft flying by so late. The Prime opened his mouth to suggest that the Elder leave—

And to his surprise the Elder's initial expression of relief and joy turned suddenly into terror. "What in—?" he gasped, looking frantically around him. "Where—how—?"

"Can I help you?" the Prime asked.

The Elder darted over to him, his eyes clinging to the Prime as if to the last lifeline of a rescue ship. "A Zhirrzh," he said, already starting to sound calmer. "I thought I was—" He broke off, flicking his tongue. "Please—where am I?"

"You're aboard an official transport of the Overclan Seating," the Prime told him, frowning at his face. It wasn't anyone he recognized. "I'm the Overclan Prime. Who are you?"

Another jolt of emotion passed across the Elder's face. "The Overclan Prime?"

And then, abruptly, he straightened up into full warrior posture. "Overclan Prime, I am Prr't-zevisti; Dhaa'rr," he said formally. "I have recently been released from captivity among the Humans on the world called Dorcas.

"And I have a vitally urgent report to make to you."

"Sara died soon after that," Lord-stewart Cavanagh said, those drops of liquid running from the corners of his eyes again. "For a long time after that I wasn't interested in doing much of anything."

"I understand," Thrr't-rokik said, bittersweet memories of his own drifting across his mind. Only half a cyclic since he'd been raised to Eldership, but already it sometimes felt as if this were the only life he'd ever lived. "I felt much the same after I was raised to Eldership. I stayed at the shrine by my fsss and did little else."

"That's not the same at all," Lord-stewart Cavanagh said, moving his head back and forth. "You speak as a Human might who had lost a hand or a leg. You were still there, but simply no longer had a body. Your wife and children could still see and talk to you."

"If they so chose," Thrr't-rokik said quietly. "Thrr-gilag was across the stars at his studies when I was raised to Eldership and could not come to be with me." He hesitated, the pain edging through him again. "My wife, Thrr-pifix-a, did not wish to see me this way at all. She moved away from our home, too far away for me to reach her."

"I'm sorry," the other said. "Some Humans handle shock better than others. I imagine it's the same for Zhirrzh."

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "But it is not only that. For her—"

He broke off as a new voice swept suddenly through his mind. "Thrr't-rokik?"

It was the voice of one of the protectors at the Thrr-family shrine, the sound being transmitted directly to him through his fsss. "I have to go, Lord-stewart Cavanagh," he said. "I will return."

He flicked back to Oaccanv and the shrine. It was latearc there, with the stars twinkling faintly down from the sky. "I'm here," he said, remembering just in time to switch back to the Zhirrzh language.

"Protector Thrr-tulkoj wants to speak with you," the protector said. "He said he'd be waiting where you last met."

"I understand," Thrr't-rokik said, frowning. Trouble? "Thank you." He flicked along his anchorline to the hills west of Cliffside Dales—

Thrr-tulkoj was indeed waiting on the hill for him. So, to his surprise, was the Overclan Prime and an unidentified Elder. "I'm here," Thrr't-rokik said. "Is there trouble?"

"There is disaster," the Prime said bluntly. "You said you had listened to those Human-Conqueror prisoners on Mra. Can you talk to them as well?"

"I believe I can," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously. Did the Prime know he'd violated the ban on communications with the Humans?

"Good," the Prime said. "I need you to ask them a question. A vitally important question."

"So," Bronski said quietly from across the room. "You two having a nice chat?"

Cavanagh looked over at him, maintaining his mental count. Thrr't-rokik had been gone for nearly two minutes now. "What?"

"You and Thrr't-rokik," Bronski said. "You've been getting on together like a house on fire."

Cavanagh cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were asleep."

Bronski shrugged. "Light sleeping is a habit you pick up in the commandos. Right, Kolchin?"

"Right," Kolchin's fully awake voice came from the other cot. "What do you think, sir?"

"About Thrr't-rokik?" Cavanagh shrugged. "My gut feeling is that he's sincere, that this isn't some sort of trick. Though I presume Bronski thinks differently."

"Not necessarily," Bronski said, his voice thoughtful. "We're seeing evidence that the Mrachanis are masters of this sort of verbal maneuvering; but, then, what else have they got? They can't fight, so they have to win with words and chicanery. The Zhirrzh, on the other hand, have one hell of a war machine. They don't need to use psychological trickery."

"Though subtlety and hardware aren't necessarily incompatible," Kolchin pointed out. "A lot of aggressor regimes have used both."

And then, suddenly, Thrr't-rokik was back. "Lord-stewart Cavanagh, I have an urgent question from the Overclan Prime," he said, his voice sounding oddly strained. "He wishes me to ask you if Human spacecraft communicate with below-light energy."

Cavanagh blinked. "With what?"

"With below-light energy," Thrr't-rokik repeated. "Wait."

He vanished again. "Any idea what below-light energy is?" Cavanagh asked the others.

"Infrared?" Bronski asked doubtfully. "Some of our short-range comm lasers use that."

"Or does he mean radio?" Kolchin suggested. "Radio signals have a lower frequency than light waves."

Thrr't-rokik reappeared. "It is called radio," he said. "Is this below-light energy?"

"I suppose you could call it that, yes," Cavanagh agreed. "We do use radio for some communications. Who is this Overclan Prime?"

"He is the leader of the Overclan Seating," Thrr't-rokik said, a strange expression on his translucent face. "Lord-stewart Cavanagh, this war is a mistake."

Cavanagh frowned. "What do you mean, a mistake?"

"A wrong happening," Thrr't-rokik said. "Your radio is what we call Elderdeath weapons."

"What do Elderdeath weapons do?" Bronski asked.

"They affect fsss organs," Thrr't-rokik said, turning to face him. "They cause great pain to Elders and children. Less effect on warriors, but still some. They are terrible and hated weapons."

"Oh, hell," Bronski murmured.

"What?" Cavanagh demanded. "Bronski, what?"

"Commander Cavanagh's report," Bronski said, his face carved from stone. "He said the Zhirrzh kept insisting that the Jutland fired first."

The back of Cavanagh's neck began to tingle. "Are you saying it did?"

"Yes, if what he's saying is true," Bronski said. "The Jutland's first-contact package was transmitted by radio."

There was a long moment of silence. A hard, brittle silence. "Oh, my God," Cavanagh said. "What do we do?"

"I must return to the Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik said. "Tell him confirmation."

He vanished. "Bronski?" Cavanagh asked.

Bronski took a deep breath. "We can't just take their word for this. But it's certainly possible."

Thrr't-rokik reappeared. "The Overclan Prime says war must stop. How can we do this?"

"Not so fast," Bronski said, gazing at the Elder. "That first battle might have been a mistake; but after that you came down very hard against us. I want to know why."

"I will ask," Thrr't-rokik said, and vanished.

"Because excuses or not, they've still been acting like conquerors since day one," Bronski pointed out to the others. "This whole radio/Elderdeath thing could just be a ploy to buy them some time."

Thrr't-rokik returned. "The Overclan Prime says our attack was designed to protect us from you. He learned about weapon called CIRCE and wanted to stop your putting it together."

Cavanagh looked across the room at Bronski, feeling sick. CIRCE, the hoax of the millennium, the threat that NorCoord had used to maintain political supremacy over the rest of the Commonwealth nations.

And now the Zhirrzh had bought into the hoax, too. With disastrous results.

"Not a word, Cavanagh," Bronski warned sharply. "Thrr't-rokik, ask the Overclan Prime if he'd be interested in stopping their aggression against us if I could promise CIRCE wouldn't be used against the Zhirrzh."

"I obey."

He vanished. "Bronski, we have to tell him," Cavanagh said.

"No, we don't," Bronski growled. "And we're not going to. It's a military secret."

"A military secret?" Cavanagh echoed. "What in blazes does being a military secret have to do with anything?"

"For starters, the simple fact that we only have his word for any of this," Bronski shot back. "For all we know, fear of CIRCE's the only thing holding them back from leveling every world in the Commonwealth."

"Do you really believe that?" Cavanagh demanded.

"Personally?" Bronski said. "Probably not. But that kind of policy decision isn't my job. The diplomats can handle that one after we get a cease-fire arranged."

"Which is going to be a bit difficult to do from here," Cavanagh pointed out.

"Right," Bronski agreed. "Which gives us the perfect chance to see how sincere the Zhirrzh really are."

Thrr't-rokik was back before Cavanagh could ask what he meant. "The Overclan Prime agrees," he said. "How can we stop the war?"

"We need to get in contact with Peacekeeper Command," Bronski said. "But we obviously can't do that from here. You're going to have to send some of the soldiers from that ship of yours and free us. If you can get us back to our ship, we can do the rest."

Thrr't-rokik gazed at him. "You can promise that?" he asked.

"I can," Bronski said firmly. "Lord Cavanagh is an important man. He can get the war stopped while we figure this out."

"I will tell the Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik said. "He will decide."

He vanished again. "What now?" Cavanagh asked.

Bronski shrugged. "We wait."

Commander Oclan-barjak flicked his tongue in a negative. "No," he said firmly. "If you want my advice, Overclan Prime, I say no."

The Prime grimaced. "Thrr't-rokik? Your opinion?"

"I don't know, Overclan Prime," the Elder said. "I believe I would trust Lord-stewart Cavanagh. But I don't really know this Bronski."

The Prime eyed him. "But you do know Lord-stewart Cavanagh?"

A flicker of startled guilt shimmered across Thrr't-rokik's face before he could hide it. But it was enough. "What I meant—"

"What you meant is that you've been talking to him," the Prime interrupted.

"You arrogant fool," Oclan-barjak growled, glaring at Thrr't-rokik. "Warrior Command has instituted a strict ban on communication with the Human-Conquerors—"

"That's not important anymore," the Prime cut him off. "Thrr't-rokik, you said Bronski said Lord-stewart Cavanagh was important. Is he?"

"He was once," Thrr't-rokik said. "He was a member of the Humans' version of the Overclan Seating. But he left a short time before his wife died."

"But he probably still has contacts with other Human-Conqueror leaders," the Prime nodded. "That may be all we need."

Oclan-barjak flicked his tongue. "Overclan Prime, I strongly suggest you reconsider. Thrr't-rokik's illegal conversations aside, we know virtually nothing about this alien."

"We have no choice, Commander," the Prime said flatly. "We have exactly two direct contacts with Human-Conquerors right now: Lord-stewart Cavanagh, and his son and daughter."

Thrr't-rokik jolted. "His son and daughter?"

"Yes," the Prime said, gesturing Prr't-zevisti forward. "That's right, you don't know. This is Prr't-zevisti; Dhaa'rr."

"Yes, I remember the name," Thrr't-rokik murmured. "Rumor has it that the Human-Conquerors on Dorcas destroyed you."

"I was merely their unintentional guest," Prr't-zevisti said. "With the aid of Melinda Cavanagh and a visiting Zhirrzh searcher, I was able to escape."

Thrr't-rokik leaned closer. "A visiting searcher? Do you know his name?"

"It's your son, Thrr-gilag," the Prime confirmed. "I sent him there to do some studies for me. Go tell Lord-stewart Cavanagh we have an agreement. Then go to the Closed Mouth and tell Searcher Nzz-oonaz that he's to send as many warriors as it takes to get the three Human-Conquerors out."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said, and vanished.

Oclan-barjak flicked his tongue in a negative. "I hope you know what you're doing, Overclan Prime," he said. "If Speaker Cvv-panav had even a taste of this, he'd have you staked out for the savagefish by midarc."

"Speaker Cvv-panav is too busy playing politics on Dorcas to bother right now," the Prime said grimly. Which was true enough; but what Oclan-barjak probably didn't see was the potentially dangerous connection that now existed between the situation on Dorcas and that on Mra. Lord-stewart Cavanagh's son and daughter were in the middle of Cvv-panav's scheme... and if anything happened to them, their father might not be nearly so willing to help arrange a truce.

And then, abruptly, Thrr't-rokik was back, a look of fear and consternation on his face. "There is trouble!" he blurted. "The Human-Conquerors are attacking!"

"What?" Oclan-barjak barked. "Attacking who?"