Conquerors' Legacy

28

Commander Sps-kudah flicked his tongue impatiently. "Searcher, we can't simply sit here in safety and let our allies be destroyed," he snapped. "Whatever this CIRCE thing is he's talking about, it must be something terrible to get them so worked up."

"Your warriors will remain with us here in the Closed Mouth, Commander," Nzz-oonaz said, trying to keep his own tail and his resolve steady. The pleading was wrenching at him, too, but he still suspected this was nothing more than the Mrachanis' response to his bringing all of the Zhirrzh into the ship. A trick to lure them outside again; and he wasn't going to fall for it.

But if it wasn't a trick, and if the Human-Conquerors were really about to use CIRCE on them...

An Elder appeared. "We've completed our search of the rooms and corridors around the hangar," he reported. "There are no signs of Mrach warriors or obvious attack preparations."

"There—you see?" Sps-kudah said. "Now can we slash this misdirected paranoia and get our warriors outside and in defensive positions?"

"Two aircraft approaching, Commander," another Elder reported tightly. "Flying low and fast from the west toward the fortress."

Another Elder flicked in. Nzz-oonaz glanced at him; it was Thrr't-rokik. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz, I have a message from the Overclan Prime—"

"Not now," Nzz-oonaz snapped. "Can't you hear the alarms? The Human-Conquerors are attacking. Maybe even with the CIRCE weapon."

Thrr't-rokik gaped. "The Human-Conquerors are attacking?"

"Elder, what about those aircraft?" Nzz-oonaz called, turning away from him.

"Still incoming," the Elder said.

"Has Warrior Command been alerted?" Nzz-oonaz called. "Who's talking to Warrior Command?"

"I have a pathway to them," another Elder called back. "They're requesting more information on the situation."

Nzz-oonaz slashed his tongue in frustration. By the time the Elders finished their briefing, it might well be too late.

Or rather, it was already too late. "Aircraft still incoming," an Elder snapped. "Five beats away."

"Seal that hatchway!" Nzz-oonaz snapped. "All Zhirrzh, prepare for attack." With good luck maybe the hull would protect them. Silently, he counted the beats down to zero—

Nothing happened.

Nzz-oonaz continued his count, looking around in bewilderment. Everyone in the control room, physicals and Elders alike, seemed fine. "Elders, check the ship," he ordered.

The Elders vanished. "Perhaps that was just a surveillance check," Commander Sps-kudah suggested darkly. "They may be coming back to use the weapon on us."

"Or maybe they already have," Nzz-oonaz said, his tail spinning hard with delayed reaction. "Maybe our hull and the cliffs above us were able to block its effect."

An Elder appeared. "No one has been hurt, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he reported. "There is also no obvious damage to the Closed Mouth."

"Go check on those aircraft," Sps-kudah ordered. "See if they're coming back."

"I obey."

"One way or another, Searcher, we need to move the ship out of this hangar," Sps-kudah said.

"If we can," Nzz-oonaz said, looking at the external monitors. The doors the Mrachanis had used to seal the hangar looked pretty strong. If they couldn't persuade the Mrachanis to open them, he'd have to send warriors out to do it the hard way—

"Searcher!" an Elder gasped, appearing in front of him. "Searcher, we're sealed in. We can't get out."

"What?" Nzz-oonaz demanded. "What do you mean?"

"There's a metal barrier covering the cliff over the hangar," a second Elder said, popping in beside the first. "It's very thin—I checked the edge. But it covers the entire hangar. And it blocks all anchorlines to Zhirrzh space."

Nzz-oonaz looked at Sps-kudah, a horrible taste oozing beneath his tongue. So that was what the aircraft out there had been doing. An attack, all right, but like nothing he would ever have expected. "They've figured it out," he said, the words coming out mechanically. "And they've locked us in."

"Yes," Sps-kudah murmured. "And with our anchorlines blocked..."

He didn't finish the sentence. But he didn't have to. With their anchorlines blocked the Mrachanis could now destroy them all at their leisure. Not just raise them to Eldership, but destroy them.

And no one would ever know what had happened.

"CIRCE?" the Overclan Prime murmured. "You're sure that's what he said? CIRCE?"

"I think so," Thrr't-rokik said, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to control it, the taste of dread collecting beneath his tongue. What in the eighteen worlds was this CIRCE that it could provoke such a reaction from the Overclan Prime himself? "I might have misunderstood."

"No, CIRCE's the word, all right," the Prime said, gesturing peremptorily to Oclan-barjak. "Commander, have you gotten through to Warrior Command yet?"

"I have a pathway open to them now," Oclan-barjak said, jogging back toward him from the transport's hatchway. "No response yet."

An Elder appeared. " 'Warrior Command to the Overclan Prime,' " he quoted. " 'We confirm: Searcher Nzz-oonaz has warned that use of CIRCE against the Mrach study group is imminent.' "

"And?" the Prime said. "Come on, Communicator, snap to it. Get me a report."

"I obey," the Elder gulped, and vanished.

"Overclan Prime?" Thrr't-rokik spoke up gingerly. "If you want, I could go back to Mra and find out what's happening."

"You'll stay here until we have more information," the Prime growled.

Thrr't-rokik drifted away, the dread growing more bitter by the beat. Was whatever was happening back there his fault? His unauthorized talk with Lord-stewart Cavanagh—could that have been the cause of this?

And then the Elder was back. " 'We've lost all contact with the Closed Mouth,' " he quoted, his voice trembling with emotion. " 'All at once, with all the Elders still at their cuttings aboard.' "

For a handful of beats the only sound on the hilltop was the whistling of the latearc breezes through the trees. "What about the Elders who went to Mra with the supplies from the Willing Servant?" the Prime asked.

"They're still checking the list," the Elder said. "They'll know in a hunbeat."

Prr't-zevisti came over beside Thrr't-rokik. "What's all this about?" he asked quietly, motioning him away from the Prime.

"I don't know," Thrr't-rokik said as the two of them drifted a few strides away across the hilltop. "But I'm very much afraid that I've helped betray the Zhirrzh on Mra."

Prr't-zevisti seemed to ponder that. "No," he said. "No, I don't believe that. Melinda Cavanagh has acted most honorably toward me. She has trusted me and helped me at great risk to herself. I cannot believe the father of such a child would use you to betray your own people."

"We hardly know enough about any of these beings to presume how they'll behave," Thrr't-rokik scoffed. But he did feel marginally better. "What's Melinda Cavanagh's condition? Lord-stewart Cavanagh has expressed concern for her."

"She's unharmed," Prr't-zevisti told him. "Her brother Pheylan Cavanagh is injured, but Melinda Cavanagh is a healer and has treated him."

"What about my sons, Thrr-gilag and Thrr-mezaz? Are they all right?"

"Thrr-gilag is all right for now," Prr't-zevisti said, his voice turning ominous. "But Commander Thrr-mezaz has been placed in detention by two agents of the Speaker for Dhaa'rr. I don't know why, but I suspect it has to do with clan politics. And with me."

"Thrr't-rokik?"

Thrr't-rokik looked over to see the Overclan Prime gesturing to him. "Do me a favor," he murmured hurriedly to Prr't-zevisti. "Tell Pheylan Cavanagh that his father is a Mrach prisoner. He's a warrior—perhaps he'll have some ideas."

He went over to the Prime. "Yes?"

"Warrior Command can't open pathways to any of the Elders on Mra," the Prime told him. "So it's up to you. Go back and see what's happened to the Closed Mouth. But be careful."

"I obey." Thrr't-rokik flicked back along his anchorline to his hidden fsss cutting. The supply room where it had been stored was deserted. Carefully, keeping as deep in the grayworld as he could, he moved through the stone corridors and walls to the hangar area. He passed a dozen scurrying Mrachanis on the way; none of them seemed to notice him.

The Closed Mouth was still where it had been, looking unharmed. Bracing himself, prepared for the worst, he moved through the hull into the control room.

And stopped short in confusion. All the Zhirrzh were also still there, also apparently unharmed. "Nzz-oonaz?" he said, coming up again to the edge of the lightworld.

A dozen physicals and Elders spun around at the sound of his voice. "Thrr't-rokik?" Nzz-oonaz said with obvious surprise. "I thought you'd been caught on the other side."

"The other side of what?"

"Of the metal sheet covering this hangar," Nzz-oonaz told him. "Didn't you notice it?"

"Those aircraft that came by dropped it over the cliff above us," a Zhirrzh wearing commander's insignia growled, stepping to Nzz-oonaz's side. "Probably with help from the Human-Conquerors."

Thrr't-rokik flicked upward, through the hull and stone cliffs to the metal covering. "I see," he said, returning to the Closed Mouth. "That explains why Warrior Command hasn't been able to open pathways to the Elders—"

"Wait a beat," the commander cut him off. "You've talked to someone on Oaccanv? Recently?"

"Of course," Thrr't-rokik said. "As I tried to tell you before, I've been speaking with the Overclan Prime. He sent me back here just now to find out what happened to you."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue suddenly. "Of course. That fsss cutting of yours—it's outside the metal covering. Get back and tell him that we expect to be under attack soon."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said, and flicked along his anchorline back to the Oaccanv hilltops and the Zhirrzh waiting there.

The Prime was speaking to another Elder but broke off as Thrr't-rokik arrived. "Well?" he asked.

"They're all alive and well," Thrr't-rokik told him. "What happened was that the Mrachanis have covered the hangar area with a metal sheet, blocking all anchorlines."

"I see," the Prime said, eyeing him. "And how is it that you aren't affected?"

Thrr't-rokik braced himself. If he hadn't been in trouble before, he was likely going to be so now. "Because I'm not part of any official group of Elders," he said. "I stowed away on the Willing Servant. My fsss cutting is hidden in a supply box that was moved to the study group's quarters."

"I see," the Prime said, his expression unreadable. "Any particular reason you stowed away on that particular ship?"

"I was following the two Zhirrzh who stole my wife's fsss," Thrr't-rokik said. "They got on the Willing Servant but then got off after my cutting was already aboard—"

He broke off, a sudden horrible thought striking him. Prr't-zevisti had said two Dhaa'rr agents had taken command of the Dorcas ground warriors. If they were the same ones he'd been following—

"There must be something about the Thrr family and illegal fsss operations," the Prime grunted. "But never mind. The issue here is how we're going to stop this war."

Thrr't-rokik grimaced. "Understood," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

For a long beat the Prime gazed out unseeingly at the waving treetops in the distance. "We need Lord-stewart Cavanagh's help to arrange a truce," he said at last, as if thinking aloud. "That much is clear. But with a Mrach attack on the Closed Mouth imminent, there's no longer any way for us to release him."

"Are we certain the Mrachanis are attacking?" Commander Oclan-barjak asked. "Could that metal sheet have some other purpose?"

"Not after they told Nzz-oonaz the attackers would be using CIRCE," the Prime said. "If it hadn't been for the accident of Thrr't-rokik's presence there, we would certainly have concluded that all the Zhirrzh had been killed instantly, leaving the Mrachanis free to take the ship apart at their leisure."

Oclan-barjak spat a curse. "So the Mrachanis have betrayed us."

"Valloittaja's group has," the Prime agreed. "We don't know if the betrayal extends to all Mrach clans. All the better, though, that we didn't agree to that attack on Earth he wanted. The point is that as long as he's a prisoner, Lord-stewart Cavanagh won't be able to influence the Human-Conqueror warriors. But perhaps he can influence his son and daughter. Prr't-zevisti?"

"Yes, Overclan Prime?" the other Elder said, coming forward.

"You said you'd spoken at length during your captivity with Melinda Cavanagh," the Prime said. "Did she seem to have any influence with the Human-Conqueror commander there?"

"Some influence, yes," Prr't-zevisti said. "I don't know if she has enough for your purposes."

"We'll have to hope she does," the Prime said. "All right. Prr't-zevisti, Thrr't-rokik—go back and explain the situation to your respective Human-Conqueror contacts. Then we'll set up a pathway between them."

He flicked his tongue. "And then," he added, "we shall see what happens."

"It is time," Valloittaja said, standing two steps into the room. Behind him, filling the doorway, were two Bhurtala. "Come with me, please."

"Time for what?" Bronski asked, not making any move to get off his cot.

"Time for you to fulfill your purpose here," the Mrachani said.

"You're going to kill us, in other words," Bronski said, waving a hand negligently. Out of the corner of his eye Cavanagh saw Kolchin easing his position on his own cot. The signal had been given, and the two former Peacekeeper commandos were preparing their attack.

An attack that everyone in the room already knew was predestined to failure.

"Of course," Valloittaja said calmly. "I trust you didn't think you were here on holiday."

"I take it that means you've started your attack on the Zhirrzh," Bronski said. "Any progress?"

"Enough," Valloittaja said. "Please come cooperatively. I have no desire to order unnecessary pain inflicted on you."

"I'm sure you don't," Bronski agreed, his tone almost flippant. "Especially since we're probably supposed to die in combat of one sort or another. Can't have bruises from Bhurtist fingers all over us confusing the medical examiners."

"There will be no medical examiners," Valloittaja said, starting to sound irritated. "At least, no human ones. The Zhirrzh won't even notice them."

And then, from the stone wall behind Cavanagh's head, came Thrr't-rokik's faint voice. "Ask him how long it will take them to enter the Zhirrzh spacecraft."

With an effort Cavanagh resisted the urge to turn around. "Tell me, Valloittaja, how long do you think it'll take you to get into the Zhirrzh ship out there?" he asked.

The mouse face frowned delicately. "We'll be inside soon enough," he said.

"They are trying to make it look like an attack with CIRCE," Thrr't-rokik's voice murmured again in Cavanagh's ear. "All must die together."

Cavanagh frowned. CIRCE? What on Earth was the Elder talking about? Or trying to get him to say? "I don't suppose you could tell us exactly how this attack is going to be staged," he improvised, stalling for time. "The traditional last request?"

Valloittaja made some sarcastic-sounding reply. But Cavanagh didn't hear it, his full attention on the voice whispering from the stone behind him. "They told Nzz-oonaz that Human-Conquerors were attacking with CIRCE," Thrr't-rokik whispered. "But if you and Zhirrzh do not die at same time—you see?"

"Yes," Cavanagh said to Valloittaja. "Still, I assume you're trying to stage this as if it all happened at once. We can't be the big, bad human attackers if we die a few days before you even get to the Zhirrzh on that ship."

Valloittaja's frown hardened. "What are you talking about?" he demanded suspiciously.

"I'm talking about the logical approach to this fraudulent attack," Cavanagh said, aware that Bronski and Kolchin were also staring at him. "I take it from your reaction I've hit close to the mark?"

Valloittaja drew himself up. "It will hardly require days to break into that ship. A few hours, at the most. By the time any Zhirrzh investigators arrive, such a difference in death times won't even be noticeable."

Bronski snorted. "You are joking," he said scornfully, finally picking up on the cue. "A few hours? Try a few days. If you're lucky."

"Bronski's right," Cavanagh agreed. "You'd better give that hull a try before you make rash promises. My guess is that it'll take you at least a week to get through it. Even without the Zhirrzh warriors inside shooting at you."

For a few seconds Valloittaja gazed at Cavanagh, not speaking. Cavanagh held the gaze, mentally crossing his fingers. "Your analysis is most interesting," the Mrach said softly. "Still, you disappoint me, Lord Cavanagh. You plead like small animals for a few more hours of life." He paused. "Or do you still have hope of escape?"

"Of course we have hope of escape," Bronski said. "You don't think we'd help you lie to the Zhirrzh just for the fun of it, do you?"

Valloittaja smiled thinly. "Very well; you have bought a few more hours of life. Enjoy them."

He turned and strode out, the Bhurtala moving aside for him and then closing the door behind him. "That was interesting," Bronski commented. "Where did you learn how to read Mrach minds, Cavanagh?"

"Insider information," Cavanagh told him, shifting back on his cot to block the spy-eye camera and motioning Bronski to do the same. "Thrr't-rokik?"

The Elder appeared in front of the door. "Beware," he cautioned. "The two large beasts still wait outside."

"So what the hell is going on?" Bronski asked.

"The Mrachanis have covered the area around the Closed Mouth with metal," Thrr't-rokik said. "It is blocking the Elders from returning home. First, the Mrachanis said that Human-Conquerors attacking with CIRCE weapon."

"With CIRCE?" Cavanagh echoed, looking at Bronski. "That's—"

"That's a lie," Bronski interrupted, throwing him a fiercely warning look. "What are your people going to do?"

"They will defend," Thrr't-rokik said. "But the Overclan Prime still wants to stop the war. He says perhaps you talk to your son Pheylan Cavanagh."

Cavanagh frowned. "Talk to my—"

And then, suddenly, he got it. "You're with Pheylan?"

"I am not," Thrr't-rokik said. "But Prr't-zevisti on Dorcas is with him."

"Dorcas?" Bronski demanded. "What's Pheylan doing there?"

"I do not know," Thrr't-rokik said. "Perhaps you can ask him."

"Yes," Cavanagh said. "How do I do this?"

"You speak," Thrr't-rokik said. "I will relay your words to Prr't-zevisti."

"I see," Cavanagh said, taking a deep breath. "All right, here we go. Pheylan, this is your father, Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh. Are you there?"

Twelve more Zhirrzh have entered the room in the past 7.94 minutes. From their expressions and postures, I have deduced that more of the imperceptible communication conduits are also present. I estimate a probability of 0.70 that there are currently twenty of the latter, with a probable deviation of plus or minus four. The original questioner has spoken twice to me during that period but has merely asked simple permutations of his earlier questions. Most of the conversation in the room has been between the Zhirrzh and the unseen conduits, which has enabled me to strengthen and corroborate my earlier language studies.

Two new Zhirrzh have now entered the room, and with their arrival I detect a significant alteration in the body language of the other twelve present. I compare their altered postures to those of the original occupants of the room toward the Zhirrzh whose tonal pattern I copied and whom I presumed to be an authority figure. From this comparison I estimate a probability of 0.70 that the newcomers are also in positions of authority and estimate a further probability of 0.90 that this authority exceeds that of any of the room's original occupants.

A pathway is opened through the room, and the two Zhirrzh step to within 1.44 meters of me. The one on the left is 3 centimeters taller than the other; he also stops 18 centimeters closer to me. {Who are you?}

{My name is Max. I'm currently the travel companion of Commander Pheylan Cavanagh.}

{You cannot be a kabrsif. Human-Conquerors do not have kabrsifli. Admit to me that you are not a kabrsif.}

I spend 0.03 second examining his expression and posture and comparing them with all I have learned about the Zhirrzh. His expression is one I haven't yet seen. From his words I estimate a probability of 0.40 that he is angry and a probability of 0.50 that he is suspicious of me. {I cannot respond to that question, nor can I admit anything. I do not know the meaning of that word.}

The Zhirrzh continues to look at me for 3.50 seconds. His companion, still standing 18 centimeters behind him, is not looking at me, but is instead looking slowly about the room. I study the movements and brief pauses and compute a probability of 0.74 that he is looking in turn at each of the unseen communication conduits.

The first Zhirrzh extends his tongue toward me for 0.43 second. {Take it apart. All of it.}

The Zhirrzh beside him holds his right hand in an unfamiliar gesture. {Just a beat, Mnov-korthe. You have no right to order such a minzhorh.}

The first Zhirrzh turns his head to face the second. {Take caution, Second Commander Klnn-vavgi. I am commanding now, and you may yet end up in the same position as your commander.}

His expression changes abruptly, to a variation of the look I had tentatively identified as suspicion, and he spends the next 8.77 seconds looking around the room the same way Second Commander Klnn-vavgi has been doing. Mnov-korthe's tongue extends for 0.93 second, pointing upward at an angle of approximately forty degrees. {You—kabrsif. What are you doing here?}

Mnov-korthe holds his same posture for 10.22 seconds. I calculate a probability of 0.95 that he is listening to one of the unseen conduits. {He did, did he?} There is a pause of 3.92 seconds. {No, you stay here now. I'll see to this.}

He turns around and walks toward the door. As he takes his first step, he makes a hand gesture toward two of the Zhirrzh.

{You two: take this so-called kabrsif across the landing field to the optronics assembly area and begin taking it apart.}

He makes another gesture toward Second Commander Klnn-vavgi. {You will come with me, Second Commander. The brother of your commander needs to be dealt with.}

"Pheylan, this is your father, Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh," the ghostly figure said, its voice as faint and insubstantial as its appearance. "Are you there?"

Propped up on one elbow on his table, Pheylan looked at Melinda, standing a couple of meters away beside Thrr-gilag. The second Zhirrzh, Klnn-dawan-a, was across the room, her head pressed listening against the door. "Go ahead," Melinda coaxed. "It's all right. He'll repeat everything you say to Dad."

But would he? That was the big question. And if he altered things, even blatantly, how would any of them know it? "Hello, Father," he said to the ghost. It occurred to him even as he said it that he hardly ever called the elder Cavanagh Father—usually it was just Dad. But there was something about this whole setup that encouraged formality. "This is your son Pheylan David. Are you all right?"

The ghost nodded and vanished. "That's it," Melinda said encouragingly. "That's all you do. It's just like relaying messages through someone else when your own phone's broken."

Which Pheylan had always hated doing. "You were starting to tell me what all this was about."

"It's our radio signals," Melinda said. "It turns out they're extremely painful to Zhirrzh Elders."

"To be accurate, to the fsss organs of the Elders," Thrr-gilag put in. "To us they are called Elderdeath weapons—"

He stopped as the ghost reappeared. " 'I'm fine, Pheylan,' " he said. " 'We're in a bit of a tight situation at the moment, though. Do you have any way to get a message off Dorcas?' "

Pheylan looked at Melinda. "Do we?"

"Colonel Holloway has two Corvines," she said. "They're the ones who decided not to go on Aric's mission to rescue you. The question is whether the Zhirrzh blockade ships out there would let them pass."

Pheylan gestured at the ghost. "Go ahead, take that back."

The ghost vanished again. "What you call radio is to us Elderdeath weapons," Thrr-gilag said, picking up the thread of the earlier conversation. Probably standard practice with the Zhirrzh, Pheylan decided, given the built-in time lags of their communication system. "They were used once in a war, by the Svrr family of the Flii'rr clan. That family was afterward destroyed."

"What do you mean, destroyed?" Melinda asked.

"The fsss organs of the adults were destroyed and the adults executed," Thrr-gilag said, his voice taking on an oddly unsettling tone. "The Elders' fsss organs were also destroyed. The children were renamed and scattered to other clans."

The ghost returned. This time, instead of speaking to Pheylan, he jabbered at Thrr-gilag in their own language. "The Overclan Prime sends you a message," Thrr-gilag said. "He does not know your language, so I will translate."

His tone changed. " 'Pheylan Cavanagh, this is the Overclan Prime. I have asked Warrior Command about the warship over Dorcas. It is damaged and cannot maneuver, but it is still capable of attack. Any messenger you send must be warned to avoid it.' "

"Can't he just order it not to shoot?" Melinda asked.

"I will ask." Thrr-gilag spoke to the ghost, who vanished.

Melinda crossed the room to Pheylan's side. "I know this is pretty new for you, and probably hard to accept," she said quietly. "But I really believe they're telling the truth."

Pheylan thought back to that first battle. To the attack on the Jutland, as it transmitted the first-contact package... the widening of that attack to the other ships, as they all switched from laser communication to battle-coded radio signals... the systematic destruction of the honeycomb escape pods with their blaring emergency radio beacons.

And his rescue from a similar death, after he'd disabled his own beacon. "No," he told his sister slowly. "Actually, it's not all that hard to accept."

The ghost returned and again held a brief conference with Thrr-gilag. "From the Overclan Prime," Thrr-gilag said. " 'Warrior Command has not been informed of this conversation. Many of the clan leaders would violently not approve of negotiations with you, especially with the current attack on the Zhirrzh ship trapped on Mra. Many will believe the Mrachanis and Human-Conquerors are cooperating in this attack.' "

Pheylan chewed at his lip. "Does the Overclan Prime know if the Mrachanis have begun trying to get through the Zhirrzh ship's hull yet?"

"Why?" Melinda asked as Thrr-gilag translated for the ghost.

"I'll tell you after we find out," Pheylan said. "If they are, I want to know what method they're using."

The ghost vanished. Ninety seconds later he was back.

"The Mrachanis are indeed attempting to penetrate the hull, Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag confirmed after the usual consultation. "They are using metal cutting tools, focused light, and explosive devices."

Pheylan smiled grimly. "In that case you can tell the Overclan Prime that no official human groups are involved in this. We know how to break Zhirrzh hulls, and it's not the way the Mrachanis are trying."

Thrr-gilag's tail twitched out of its usual steady corkscrewing motion. "You have found a way? How?"

"We had a tech team studying the buildings you left behind after I escaped," Pheylan told him. "They figured it out. The method's probably already back on Earth; it certainly could be on Mra by now if the Peacekeepers were involved."

Thrr-gilag's tail twitched again. "I will inform the Overclan Prime."

He spoke to the ghost, who vanished. "Are you sending all this to my father, too?" Pheylan asked. "He needs to know what's going on."

"He is hearing everything," Thrr-gilag assured him. "The Overclan Prime has insisted. It is by his authority that he hopes to persuade the other Human leaders."

"Good," Pheylan said. "Then when your communicator gets back, I've got some suggestions to make to him."

Beside the door Klnn-dawan-a suddenly hissed something and jumped toward Pheylan's table. "Someone is coming," Thrr-gilag said, grabbing two of their instruments and tossing her one of them. Pheylan dropped back flat on the table, wondering fleetingly whether he should feign pain or nervousness or defiance or whether it really mattered—

Abruptly the door slammed open against its stop, and a tall Zhirrzh strode in, three others behind him. Two of them, Pheylan noted, were carrying the well-remembered riflelike weapons. The tall Zhirrzh snarled something, and the two guards took up positions flanking the doorway, weapons angled just over the occupants' heads. Thrr-gilag said something, was answered by the tall Zhirrzh. Again Thrr-gilag spoke, gesturing. "Is there a problem?" Pheylan asked loudly into the conversation.

For a moment the tall Zhirrzh eyed him with what was probably a glare of some sort. Then, with a contemptuous-sounding noise, he spat something. "He asks you to be silent," Thrr-gilag translated.

"Why should we?" Pheylan demanded. The tall Zhirrzh was looking around the room now, his eyes searching the tables and miscellaneous human and Zhirrzh equipment in a way Pheylan didn't like. "We're involved in this too, you know. We deserve to know what's going on."

"Please be silent," Thrr-gilag said, his tone sounding urgent. "He is Mnov-korthe, agent of the Overclan Seating, and he has command here now. You will merely get us into trouble—"

He broke off, his tail twitching again. Mnov-korthe's roving eyes had abruptly stopped. With two long strides he stepped to the equipment table off to Pheylan's right, pulling away a rumpled piece of material from Pheylan's jumpsuit leg to reveal the short, slender cylinder that Melinda had hidden there. The cylinder she had earlier had hidden inside the vital-signs monitor.

Pheylan shifted his gaze to his sister. Her face was rigid, her eyes wide with the dismayed awareness of imminent disaster. Slowly, as if deliberately playing to the sudden tension in the room, Mnov-korthe picked up the cylinder. He turned to Thrr-gilag, lifting it triumphantly in front of him—

And then, through the open door, came the hard thunder crack of a distant explosion.

Mnov-korthe spun around toward the door, barking something to the guards and flicking his tongue toward the dusky village landscape outside. The last part of his speech was punctuated by three more explosions, this group coming in rapid succession. Pheylan hoisted himself back up into a sitting position, trying to look past the Zhirrzh to see if he could tell where the blasts were coming from. He couldn't; but even as one of the two guards stepped out through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of two ghosts outside. No doubt reporting on the explosions—

And then another ghost appeared directly in front of Mnov-korthe. It was their ghost, Prr't-zevisti, the one who'd been carrying their messages back and forth.

The other unarmed Zhirrzh who'd come in with Mnov-korthe shouted something, jabbing his tongue out at the ghost. Mnov-korthe took a step backward, then stepped forward again directly into and through the ghost, saying something and waving the cylinder emphatically. Thrr-gilag said something, jumping forward and making a snatch at the cylinder. But Mnov-korthe was faster, taking a quick step to the side and deflecting Thrr-gilag's rush with his free hand. Klnn-dawan-a started toward him, but the unarmed Zhirrzh caught her arm and pulled her to his side. Recovering his balance, Thrr-gilag tried again; again Mnov-korthe took a step back, easily batting his flailing hands away. From outside came a sudden flurry of noise and alien shouts—

"Melinda Cavanagh," the ghost called, his thin voice barely audible over the noise. "He must stop!"

Pheylan had no idea what the ghost meant, and he doubted that Melinda understood the situation any better than he did. And if he'd had the chance, he would have warned her to keep out of it.

But he never had the chance. Suddenly, to his dismay, Melinda broke away from where she stood rooted to the floor and threw herself toward Mnov-korthe.

Again the Zhirrzh was too fast. He twisted away like a cat, her hand missing his wrist by bare millimeters. Off balance, she lunged for him with her other hand; again he evaded her. Out of the corner of his eye Pheylan saw the second guard swing back into the room, his hand fumbling up the barrel of his rifle.

And suddenly Melinda's arms slammed to her sides, her legs snapped together, and she toppled toward the floor.

Mnov-korthe made no effort to cushion her fall, jumping back instead out of her way as she crashed to the floor with a grunt of pain. The Zhirrzh spat something, waving at the guards with one hand and pointing down at her with his tongue. The guards lowered their rifle barrels toward her—

And clenching his teeth, Pheylan launched himself off the side of his table toward Mnov-korthe.

His feet hit the floor, a jolt of pain from his broken leg lancing straight up to his skull despite the numbing effect of the anesthetics. His arms snaked around the Zhirrzh's torso and neck, and he yanked back, pinning Mnov-korthe solidly against his chest.

And nearly lost his grip an instant later as the Zhirrzh's left foot swung violently backward to slam against his broken leg, turning the throbbing ache into a red-tinged blaze of agony. Pheylan swore viciously, tightening his grip, resisting the sudden urge to break the alien's neck. A subtle movement in Mnov-korthe's right shoulder warned him, and he snaked his right hand down the other's arm just as the Zhirrzh's hand emerged from a waist pouch gripping a small hand-weapon-sized object. Twisting them both to the left, he slammed Mnov-korthe's wrist onto the edge of the table, then whipped the arm down and to his right, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. "Guns up!" he snarled toward the guards. "Thrr-gilag—tell them!"

The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a's arm had already barked an order, and the rifle muzzles had moved uncertainly off their targets. Though not very far off their targets. "Tell them to lay the guns down on the floor," Pheylan said, breathing hard with exertion and trying to ignore the rekindled pain in his leg. He looked along the second guard's barrel, spotted the obedience-suit trigger that the alien had strapped halfway along it. "And have them release Melinda's suit," he added. "Go ahead, tell them."

Thrr-gilag translated. The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a flicked his tongue out and said something in return. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi will not so order," Thrr-gilag said, his voice as agitated as the blur of his tail spinning behind him. "He orders you instead to release Mnov-korthe unharmed."

"You know better than that, Thrr-gilag," Pheylan bit out. "We've been here before, you and me, remember? I'm not letting him go."

"It will serve no purpose, Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag said. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi cannot allow you to escape. The warriors are already gathering; and if you are killed, it will greatly harm the chances for us to stop the war."

Pheylan shook his head. "This is a matter for diplomats, Thrr-gilag. I'm one solitary soldier. I can't stop any wars."

"But the diplomats will not hear unless you take word to them," Thrr-gilag persisted. "We have no direct contact with any other Humans who can tell them."

Pheylan clenched his teeth, uncertainty twisting through his gut. "What was Mnov-korthe ordering just before I grabbed him?"

Thrr-gilag looked down at Melinda, still frozen in place on the floor. "He had ordered the warriors to shoot Melinda Cavanagh."

Pheylan tightened his grip around Mnov-korthe's neck a little. "And you said he was in command here?"

"Yes."

"So if I let him go, and he tells them to shoot her, they will?"

Thrr-gilag hissed softly. "Yes."

"Then I can't let him go," Pheylan told him. "And I won't."

"Pheylan, this is crazy," Melinda said, her voice sounding slurred with her cheek pressed against the floor. "This is a chance to stop the war. You can't throw that away for one life. Not even mine."

"I came here to help you, Melinda," Pheylan said, the words sounding bitter in his ears. He'd certainly done a terrific job of it. "Getting you killed is not exactly how I intended to do it."

"Pheylan, listen—"

"Besides, who says this Mnov-korthe character even wants peace?" he cut her off. "Or that any of the Zhirrzh really want peace? You heard the Overclan Prime—he can't even order the blockade ships over Dorcas to let anyone out."

"That is why we need you alive," Thrr-gilag said. "Through you the Overclan Prime may negotiate a stop to the fighting."

"And that's also why Mnov-korthe will probably order us killed the minute he has the chance," Pheylan told him tightly. "If his boss is one of those who wants the war to continue, killing us here and now is the simplest way to accomplish that." He nodded toward the spot where their ghost had last appeared. "You'd better get word back to the Overclan Prime."

"He has been informed," Thrr-gilag said. "Perhaps he can do something to help."

"Right," Pheylan murmured. But he doubted it. It sounded as if the Overclan Prime was in the middle of a major political fight on this one; and he'd seen enough of his father's own battles in the NorCoord Parliament to know their outcome was never certain. And if the Prime lost this one...

"So what do we do now?" Melinda murmured.

Pheylan looked around the room. "We start by staying calm," Pheylan told her. "We don't want to do anything to provoke them."

"I think I can handle that," she said dryly. "What then?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"All attack units are in the air and in formation," Takara reported tightly. "Transports lifting now, falling in behind. ETA, sixteen minutes."

"Acknowledged," Holloway said, gazing out the aircar canopy at the hills rolling by beneath them. Ahead, the last glow of sunset was fading from the sky, leaving a hyphenated layer of purple clouds behind it. "Have Vanbrugh and Hodgson lifted yet?"

"Their Corvine's lifting now," Takara said, pressing his headphone closer to his ear. "Gaining altitude. Base reports no enemy response yet."

Holloway grimaced. It was a terrible risk, sending one of their irreplaceable Corvines into the free-fire zone of the Zhirrzh blockade like this. But it was a risk that had to be taken. "Have there been any more explosions in the enemy camp?" he asked.

"Just those four," Takara said. "The spotters think they've located the affected building, at one of two centers of increased enemy activity."

"Probably means they had Janovetz and the Cavanaghs split up," Holloway said. "You have both centers marked?"

"Yes." Takara touched a key, and an overlay appeared on the canopy view.

Holloway studied it briefly. Two buildings fronting onto the landing field, no more than a hundred meters apart. Perfect. "Send that to the rest of the force," he ordered. "We'll be putting down midway between them; everything around those zones is free-fire. Remind everyone that the objective here is to take out the antiaircraft weaponry, not to rack up enemy casualties."

"They've been so informed." Takara threw him a sideways look. "You sure you want to do this, Cass?"

Holloway gazed out at the horizon. No, he wasn't at all sure. He'd been three-quarters convinced already that this batch of Zhirrzh weren't nearly as savage or bloodthirsty as the group who'd hit the Jutland, even before Melinda Cavanagh's ghost had shown up with this radio/Elderdeath-weapon theory of his. Up to now, in fact, the war here had been remarkably clean, almost civilized.

But Holloway's job wasn't to keep the war civilized. It was to protect the people under his authority. And right now that meant finding a way to get them off-planet before the halucine epidemic condemned them to slow starvation.

And if he had to flatten that entire village over there to accomplish that, then that was what he would do. Civilized warfare or not. "We're doing what we have to, Major," he said.