Conquerors' Legacy

18

Fortunately, they didn't. Grunting strange alien sounds in unison, they heaved the cannon up and shoulder-pressed it into place beneath the stubby airfoil wing of the freighter towering above them. The other two males waiting there on the makeshift scaffold were ready, and with half a dozen brief showers of sparks the cannon was spot-welded into place.

"Great," Aric said, breathing a little easier as he cautiously approached from the side and peered up at the welds. They wouldn't handle any really serious stress, of course, but they'd be more than adequate to hold the cannon in place for the twenty minutes it would take the adhesive to cure. "Okay, now you need to connect the cables—those ones coming out of the wing—to those input slots there."

One of the Yycromae on the scaffold grunted, and they set to work. "Who's got the mu-plus shield?" Aric asked, looking around.

[Here,] another Yycroma said, stepping forward with the soft metallic material in his hand.

"Toss it up to them," Aric instructed. "You, up there—make sure you get a double layer wrapped around every exposed part of the cables before you seal it."

A movement to Aric's right caught the corner of his eye, and he turned as a Yycroman female stepped up to him, the tooled half cloak of a midlevel government official rippling as she walked. [Aric Cavanagh,] she greeted him, her black eyes studying the operation going on above their heads. [Have you progress to report?]

"I should have some soon," Aric told her. "As soon as the cables and mu-plus magnetic shield are in place, they can run the control module through its paces. The shield should fix the phase-interference problems."

[And then?]

Aric gestured upward. "A little armor-plate conduit over the cables, and this one will be finished. Then we just have to go back and correct the three that were done wrong and make sure the workers add this step to the procedure from now on."

The female was still gazing upward. [Will your assistance be needed further?] she asked.

Aric frowned at her, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

[You have been of great service to the Yycromae,] she said. [I ask again: will your assistance be needed further?]

Aric braced himself. An ominous-sounding question, made downright sinister by the cold Yycroman delivery. "Not really," he conceded. "I could certainly be of further help, but I'm not really necessary. Your people should be able to handle everything from here on."

[Thank you,] she said, lowering her gaze at last to him. [Please come with me.]

With the requisite two males marching behind as guards, the female led the way out of the underground hangar, back through the maze of corridors, and up the stairway into the government building where he'd been taken when he'd first arrived on Phormbi three days ago. Two hallways later the female stopped beside a door, this one guarded by four males. [The ci Yyatoor awaits you,] she said. [Farewell, Aric Cavanagh.]

She turned and left, the escort leaving with her. One of the guards swung open the door; swallowing, Aric went inside.

The room was large and ornate, lavishly stocked with both furniture and museum-class art objects. Seated in a carved chair in the center, dressed to the hilt in her ceremonial helmet and tooled cloak, was Klyveress ci Yyatoor. Seated in a pair of human-sized chairs facing her, their heads turned to look in Aric's direction, were two young men. [He is here, as I promised,] Klyveress said, gesturing toward him. [Aric Cavanagh, these human males have come to Phormbi seeking you.]

"Really," Aric said, stepping forward as both men got to their feet. Offhand, he couldn't remember ever seeing either of them before. "What can I do for you?"

"My name's Daschka; Commonwealth Diplomatic Service," one of them identified himself, offering a shimmery ID card for inspection. "This is my associate, Cho Ming. You've led us quite a chase, Mr. Cavanagh."

"I was unaware I'd been leading anyone on any chases," Aric said, glancing casually at the ID and handing it back. Giving the card a long, suspicious examination might be taken as an insult, and he didn't have the expertise to spot a forgery anyway. Besides, Klyveress had undoubtedly already had the two men checked out.

"A figure of speech only," Cho Ming assured him. "Actually, Mr. Cavanagh, we were becoming worried about you."

Aric lifted his eyebrows. "Really. You personally, or the whole Commonwealth diplomatic service?"

Daschka's expression didn't even twitch. "But we've found you, and you're safe, and that's what really matters, isn't it?"

"I've always thought so," Aric said. "If that's all, I trust you'll excuse me...?"

Daschka held up a finger. "Not quite, Mr. Cavanagh. Actually, we're here to bring you back to Edo."

Aric glanced at Klyveress, but the impassive crocodilian face wasn't giving anything away. "Why?"

"Purely routine," Cho Ming said. "Some administrative details of the inquiry got buried, and you left Edo before the bureaucrats noticed their files were incomplete. Bureaucrats get upset over things like that."

"I'm terribly sorry for the bureaucrats," Aric said, eyeing them with sudden suspicion. Daschka's ID card had listed his current service post as the Mra colony world of Mra-ect, which if Aric remembered correctly was also where Admiral Rudzinski had said Petr Bronski was based.

Only he knew now that Bronski wasn't a Commonwealth diplomat at all, but a senior officer in NorCoord Military Intelligence. Were Daschka and Cho Ming two of his operatives?

"We knew you'd understand," Daschka said. "If you'll come with us, we have a ship waiting."

"Why can't I just fill out the forms here?" Aric asked. "You brought everything with you, didn't you?"

"I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that," Cho Ming said apologetically. "The fact is that we have to go back to Edo. It won't take long, I assure you."

"But I'm needed here," Aric protested. "I'm doing important work for the Yycromae, work vital to the war effort against the Conquerors." He looked at Klyveress. "The ci Yyatoor can vouch for that."

Klyveress shifted position on her chair. [I am told your work here is finished,] she said. [You may leave with your fellow humans.]

"But—" I don't want to leave with them! But there was no point in saying the words. Whatever pressure Daschka had brought to bear, diplomatic or otherwise, Klyveress had clearly caved in to it.

[Your service has been greatly appreciated, Aric Cavanagh,] Klyveress said gravely. [The Yycroman people will not soon forget.]

"No, of course not," Aric murmured. He'd served his purpose and now was being cold-bloodedly thrown to the wolves. "I won't forget either."

A groundcar and Yycroman driver were waiting outside the building to drive the three humans back to the spaceport. The trip was reasonably short, and very quiet.

Daschka's ship turned out to be a slightly run-down-looking old Wolfgant schooner-class spacecraft with the name Happenstance etched in curly script at the bow. They arrived to find Aric's luggage stacked neatly at the foot of the boarding ramp, and the Yycroman spaceport workers just finishing up the preflight servicing. "You've got to hand it to the Yycromae," Cho Ming commented as they helped carry the luggage up the ramp. "On straight-line efficiency they'll beat anyone hands down."

"That's one of the things that makes them dangerous," Daschka said sourly as he sealed the hatchway behind them. "Efficiency combined with sheer bonehead stubbornness is a bad combination."

"Yeah." Cho Ming threw a speculative look at Aric. "Speaking of stubbornness, you notice anything funny about this scenario? We show up and ask for Cavanagh, and the ci Yyatoor just gives him up. No blustering about sovereign rights, no demand for papers or procedures—nothing. She just gives him up."

"I noticed," Daschka agreed, giving Aric a speculative look of his own. "You wear out your welcome, Cavanagh?"

"Not that I know of," Aric said. "Maybe she just gets nervous with NorCoord Military Intelligence people around."

Daschka smiled tightly. "Bright boy," he acknowledged. "What did she do, show you Bronski's signature on her copy of that statement of understanding your father ramrodded through? Where is the honorable Lord Cavanagh, by the way?"

Aric shook his head. "I don't know."

Daschka grunted. "Neither did the ci Yyatoor. Or so she claimed."

"Maybe that's why she gave us this one," Cho Ming suggested. "A bone to keep us happy while she keeps Lord Cavanagh under wraps somewhere."

"As far as I know, he's not here," Aric said. He hesitated— "If you find out differently, I'd be very interested in knowing it."

"I'll bet you would," Daschka said. "Well, let's see if we can find out. Stow your stuff in number-three cabin, then come up to the flight deck."

The flight deck was something of a surprise to Aric when he arrived. The forward part, with the wraparound canopy and piloting/navigational control boards, was about the right size for a schooner-class ship. But the aft section, which normally included only the engineering and life-support monitors, had been expanded to nearly four times the usual size and equipped with a dizzying array of electronic equipment. "Welcome to NorCoord Intelligence, Mobile," Cho Ming said from the depths of one of the three seats in the aft section. "Your first visit, I take it?"

"Yes," Aric said, looking around. About half the equipment he vaguely recognized, or at least could take a guess at its function. The rest he didn't have a clue about.

"Probably your last, too," Daschka called back from the pilot's station. "Needless to say, it all comes under the Official Secrets Regulations. Sit down and strap in—we've got clearance to lift. And don't touch anything."

Aric chose the chair closest to Cho Ming. "Have you found out anything?"

"Only that the Yycromae are suddenly running around like beavers at a bark sale," Cho Ming said, frowning at the displays around him as his fingers danced across one of three keyboards arranged around his seat. "A lot of communications traffic zipping back and forth around the planet—probably ten times the amount a place with Phormbi's population ought to have. Most of it encoded, too—looks like government codes. Something's got them stirred up, but good."

With a lurch the ship started forward. "Maybe your leaving here spooked them," Aric suggested.

"We only spook people when we arrive, Cavanagh," Daschka called back dryly. "Not when we leave."

"Lots of vehicle movement, too," Cho Ming said. "Mostly up by... hmm."

"What?" Aric asked.

Cho Ming was peering at one of his displays. "Daschka, remember that big refitting area the Yycromae had set up over at the Northern Wooded Steppes?"

"Where we found Lord Cavanagh when we were here last? Sure."

"The Yycromae seem to be emptying it."

The ship lifted off the ground and angled upward. "You sure?" Daschka asked.

"Pretty sure," Cho Ming said. "It's over the horizon, but I'm getting enough secondary leakage bouncing off the ionosphere for an eighty-count signature ID. I'd say there are at least fifty ships either gearing up for lift or already on the move."

Daschka swore, a brittle Russian curse. "So much for Yycroman guarantees. I'll bet ten against five they're off to attack the Mrachanis."

"Looks like it," Cho Ming agreed. "Anything we can do about it?"

"Not really," Daschka conceded. "We can send a message skitter on ahead with a warning, but there's not a lot the Mrachanis can do to get ready for them."

"What about Peacekeeper forces?" Aric asked, a cold rage aching in his throat. A rage, and a deep shame. He'd seen those guarantees, too. His father had signed them. He himself had helped arm those ships.

And now the Yycromae were heading out to continue a war that had lain dormant for a quarter century.

"As far as I know, there's nothing between here and the Myrmidon Platform at Granparra," Cho Ming said. "Certainly nothing that could get here in time to intercept that assault fleet."

"If the assault hasn't already started," Daschka pointed out. "For all we know, this could be the second wave. Might explain why the ci Yyatoor was so anxious to get us out of here. Check the wake-trail detector—see if you can pick up anything farther out."

"Right," Cho Ming said, swiveling to face one of his other keyboards. "I hope we've got Yycroman freighter tachyon trails on file. If we don't, this is going to be a little tricky..."

He trailed off. Aric glanced over at him, paused for a closer look. The man's face had gone suddenly tight. "What is it?" he asked.

Cho Ming took a deep breath. "Daschka, I think we can scratch the Mrachani-attack theory. We've got... looks like ten or eleven ships incoming." He turned to look in Daschka's direction. "Conqueror ships."

There was a long, brittle silence. Aric looked forward, too, seeing only the top of Daschka's head above his headrest against the darkening sky as the schooner headed for space. "You sure?" Daschka asked at last.

"Positive," Cho Ming said. "Unless someone loaded us the wrong baseline back at Edo."

The top of Daschka's head nodded slowly. "ETA?"

"About ninety minutes," Cho Ming said. "Wait a minute. I'm picking up something else now. Slightly different vector but still incoming... good God."

"What is it?" Daschka demanded.

"I don't know," Cho Ming said, frowning at the display. "We've got nothing like it in the baseline file. Looks big, though. Huge. I've got to get a copy of this."

"You think it's a new type of Conqueror ship?" Aric asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"I hope not," Cho Ming said as he keyed his board. "If they've got something that big, we're in very serious trouble."

"Maybe it's a Yycroman warship," Daschka put in. "We found out a month or so ago that they still have a couple stashed away."

Aric gazed at the wake-trail, a sudden thought belatedly occurring to him. A Conqueror invasion force ninety minutes out from Phormbi meant the Yycromae must have detected them nearly half an hour ago. "So that's why the ci Yyatoor let you take me," he murmured, half to himself. "She knew they were coming and wanted us out of here before they arrived."

"Afraid she's going to be disappointed on that last," Daschka grunted. "Cho Ming, we've got seventy or eighty minutes to get someplace where we can watch without getting trampled. See what you can find."

"We're not leaving?" Aric asked.

"And miss the chance to see what happens when a Yycroman warship takes on the Zhirrzh?" Daschka snorted. "You must be kidding."

"We know what'll happen," Aric retorted. "The Yycromae will get cut to ribbons."

"All the more reason to stay and watch," Cho Ming said. "If the Yycromae lose, there may not be anyone left here to report on the battle."

"That's a cheery thought," Aric growled. "And you think the Conquerors will just let us make our recordings and leave?"

"With luck they'll never even know we were here," Cho Ming assured him. "This ship can be rigged for sensor-stealthing that's just a hair short of what Peacekeeper watchships get."

Aric grimaced. "So we're just going to sit out here and watch the Yycromae get slaughtered."

"If you'd rather join in the fight, we can take you back to the ground," Daschka offered, turning half around to look at Aric over the edge of his chair back.

Aric looked away, anger and frustration and guilt all tugging at him. Anger at Daschka's and Cho Ming's coolly detached attitude toward the coming slaughter. Guilt at the way he'd been so prematurely quick to misjudge both Klyveress's character and her motives in letting the two Intelligence agents take him away.

And frustration at his inability to make the proper and honorable decision.

Because it was obvious what that decision should be. The Yycromae weren't ready to face the Conquerors—not by a long shot. His two hands would be of only limited help in their race against the clock, but offering that help was still the right thing for him to do. Pheylan would certainly have done so if he'd been there. Melinda was apparently trapped on Dorcas because she'd made a similar decision. How could he do less?

Because he was afraid. That was the bottom line: he was afraid. He'd already risked his life once to rescue his brother, and that time he'd gotten away with it. Risking himself again—not for family but for virtual strangers—would be tempting fate in a way he somehow couldn't bring himself to do.

Yet down deep he knew that it was what he should do. And hadn't his parents always taught him that personal comfort or safety should never interfere with doing the right thing?

"Hold everything," Cho Ming said suddenly, peering at his displays and keying a switch. "Got some small asteroid fragments in low planetary polar orbit—probably leftovers from some mining operation. What do you think?"

"Not bad," Daschka agreed. "None of them are big enough to hide behind, but skulking along in the middle of the group ought to do nicely. How far away are they?"

"About five minutes at full throttle," Cho Ming said. "Or we can take fifty and do a minimum-fuel course. Your choice."

"Never spend fuel if you don't have to," Daschka admonished him. "Especially heading into a situation like this. Minimum-fuel it is." There was a lurch, and Aric found himself being pressed into his seat by acceleration. "Offer withdrawn, Cavanagh. You're stuck here for the duration."

"I'd gathered as much," Aric murmured. So that was that. The decision had been made, its weight and guilt taken away from him.

But still he had hesitated. And somehow he knew that that hesitation would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The Mrachani receptionist's iridescent hair stiffened briefly before laying down again across his neck and shoulders. "I'm afraid you were misinformed, Monsieur Marchand," he said apologetically. "Ambassador-Chief Valloittaja is on meditation-retreat and will not be seeing visitors for the foreseeable future."

"Oh," Bronski said, his face and shoulders sagging slightly in a nicely underplayed gesture of disappointment. "I'm of course pleased for the Ambassador-Chief, but... There can be no exceptions?"

"None at all," the Mrachani said, his voice rich with regret and commiseration. "I'm very sorry for your disappointment."

"But our work was done specifically for him," Bronski persisted, gesturing to Cavanagh. "At the Ambassador-Chief's own request, Signor Fortunori has been developing a business plan for his family. We have nurtured this plan through to its birth and are eagerly anxious to present it to him. This is most frustrating to us."

"I understand both your eagerness and your frustration," the Mrachani said, his fur stiffening again. "Perhaps a meeting with one of the Ambassador-Chief's kinsmen would serve your purpose."

"It would not substitute, but it might be useful," Bronski agreed reluctantly. "Can you tell me how to locate one of them?"

"Certainly." The Mrachani busied himself at his terminal, and a card popped out of the slot beside Bronski's hand. "I have listed the names and contact information for three of the Ambassador-Chief's closest kinsmen," he said as Bronski took the card. "I trust one of them will be able to assist you."

"Only if he can persuade the Ambassador-Chief to see us," Bronski sighed, motioning Cavanagh and Kolchin toward the door. "Thank you for your concern, and may your family flourish."

The three of them left the building and headed back out into the street again. "I hope you realize what a chance you were taking in there," Cavanagh murmured to Bronski as they headed down the walkway toward where they'd parked their rented groundcar.

"It wasn't all that big a chance," the brigadier assured him. "I supervise Mrach operations, but I haven't personally been here on Mra in several years. Besides, distinguishing between humans is as hard for most Mrachanis as distinguishing between them is for us. Most of them aren't up to the challenge."

"So what did all this prove?" Kolchin asked.

"Ambassador-Chief Valloittaja is easily the leading Mrach expert on dealing with alien races," Bronski said. "If he's suddenly and mysteriously missing, I'd say we've found our thread to whatever this game is they're playing."

"Why is it necessarily mysterious?" Cavanagh asked. "I thought meditation-retreats were pretty standard among the Mrach elite."

"They are," Bronski said. "But they're strictly a yearly ritual. Valloittaja had his three months ago."

"I see," Cavanagh said. "So what now? We tug on the thread and see where the seam unravels?"

"I'd like to avoid anything quite that obvious," Bronski said. "Nine times out of ten, when you start tugging on threads they either break or you find out they're tied to something with a lot of teeth at the other end. No, let's try tracking along the thread first. We'll start with these three kinsmen and try to get some idea where Valloittaja might have gone."

"Just a second," Cavanagh said, touching Bronski's shoulder as a display in the window they were passing caught his eye. The sign, in ten languages, announced it to be a visitor information center. "Wait here; I'll be right back."

He was back with them two minutes later. "Did you ask them where Valloittaja was?" Bronski asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, we didn't get around to that," Cavanagh told him. "It occurred to me that whatever the Mrachanis are up to, their plan might require large tracts of isolated territory." He held up his new collection of cards. "So I picked up some travel-and-vacation brochures."

Bronski smiled tightly as he took the cards. "Not bad," he said approvingly. "Not bad at all. Kolchin, you're driving. Let's get back to the ship."

They had left the capital's central district and were in sight of the spaceport tower when Bronski looked up from his plate. "You did it, Cavanagh," he said with a grim satisfaction. "Here it is: Puvkit Tru Kai—the Garden Of The Mad Stonewright. Two months ago it was a public park and recreational area."

"Suddenly closed for renovation?" Kolchin asked.

"Nothing so obvious," Bronski said. "It's still listed. Only it's listed at the wrong place."

Cavanagh blinked. "Come again?"

"They've changed its location," Bronski said. "Or, rather, its alleged location. What they're calling the Garden now is a fairly minor group of rock formations about two hundred kilometers farther north. Close enough to the real one that most people looking at the brochure won't even notice the difference; far enough away that any visitors will be safely out of the way of whatever's happening there."

"So what's our next move?" Cavanagh asked.

"We take a closer look at the real Garden, of course," Bronski said, fiddling with the controls of his plate. "Let's see. We'll take the ship over to Douvremrom—that's about three hours away if we go suborbital. Then another three hours by rented aircar, and we'll be there."

Cavanagh frowned over the brigadier's shoulder. Three hours by aircar was a pretty healthy distance. "Aren't there any closer spaceports?"

"Of course there are," Bronski said, turning off his plate and sliding it back inside his jacket. "The Garden's got one of its own, in fact. What's convenient about Douvremrom is that it's listed on this other card as the home of one of Valloittaja's kinsmen."

"Ah." Cavanagh nodded understanding. "Which means that if anyone's bothering to track our movements, they should conclude we're going there to see him."

"Oh, they'll be tracking us, all right," Bronski said. "If not now, then the minute we cross whatever invisible circle they've drawn around the Garden and their little Conquerors Without Reason project."

And there would be Bhurtala waiting for them in the darkness.... "What do we do then?" he asked, suppressing a shiver.

"We'll go with standard procedure," Bronski said. "We find out what we can and get the hell out."

"Always nice to have a plan," Cavanagh murmured.

"Don't worry about it," Bronski soothed him. "In a pinch I've still got that fake red card I used on you back in Mig-Ka City. It would take a pretty high-level Mrachani not to be intimidated by that."

Cavanagh grimaced. "High-level Mrachanis like Valloittaja, for instance?"