Conquerors' Legacy

21

"I'm sorry," Nzz-oonaz said automatically before catching himself. There was no need for him to apologize to the Mrachanis. In fact, if anything, the apologies and explanations should be traveling the other direction. "But if there's any blame to be placed here, I believe there's enough for all of us to share."

Valloittaja seemed to shrink into himself. "Of what use is blame?" he asked, his voice low and edged with fear and pain. "The Zhirrzh strength has been tried and has failed... and the Mrachanis now face extinction at the hands of our oppressors."

"That will not happen," Gll-borgiv put in, flicking his tongue for emphasis. "We will not allow it."

"And you and the Conquerors Without Reason are both wrong if you think that Zhirrzh strength has failed," Svv-selic added with equal firmness.

"Do you truly believe that?" Valloittaja's voice was still soft, but suddenly there was an undertone to it that sent a chill of shame through Nzz-oonaz. "You, who were driven out before them? You, who by your own admission wavered in your determination when first faced with the Yycroman line of defense?"

"I don't entirely understand that part myself," Nzz-oonaz admitted. "There was something about the defenders being nonwarrior craft instead of warships—"

"The Yycromae are a warrior people," Valloittaja hissed. "I have told you that again and again. There are no nonwarriors with them."

"We understand," Gll-borgiv said. "And we won't make that mistake again. In fact—"

"If I may speak," Nzz-oonaz cut him off, throwing a warning glare at both him and Svv-selic. He'd been far too lax lately in maintaining his rights and responsibilities as speaker of this group, and it was about time he reasserted that authority. "The fact of the matter, Valloittaja, is that your information did not lead us to expect either the Conqueror Without Reason fleet or the two Yycroman warships that appeared."

"I know," Valloittaja murmured. The brief flash of anger was gone, and once again he seemed to shrink in his seat. A vulnerable, helpless creature facing a future full of fear and hopelessness. "And that is why I can see only extinction for myself and my people. For the universe is filled with the unexpected; and if Zhirrzh strength and resolution cannot face even so small a test, how can you hope to endure a truly difficult challenge?"

"And what is this challenge?" Nzz-oonaz asked, resisting the temptation to again defend his people and their character.

"What else but the proposed attack on the planet Earth?" Valloittaja said. "That is the center of their power and influence. More important, it is undoubtedly the place where the weapon CIRCE is being assembled."

From the edges of his eyes Nzz-oonaz saw Gll-borgiv's and Svv-selic's tails speed up; felt his own tail twitch despite his best efforts to control it. "An attack on Earth would hardly be merely another challenge," he said to Valloittaja. "Your information as well as our own indicates that Earth is defended by awesome weaponry. And with their tunnel-line detectors, they would have eighty hunbeats of advance warning that our warships were coming."

"There is a way around that," Valloittaja said, sounding almost pathetically eager. "We have a way, if only you'll agree to help and protect us."

"We will listen to your ideas," Nzz-oonaz said with a nod. "But not right now."

There was an uncomfortable shuffling from the two searchers flanking him. Nzz-oonaz felt it himself: the sense of frantic urgency filling the air, tugging at him to agree to whatever the Mrachanis wanted. If they didn't attack Earth as quickly as possible, all could be lost.

But he had his instructions from the Overclan Prime himself, and he was determined to obey them. "We must first wait until Warrior Command has had a chance to assess the damage to the strike force," he told Valloittaja, "and to fully evaluate the warriors' performance in that battle. Only then will we discuss what further actions are to be taken."

"But that will take time," Valloittaja objected. "Time that neither you nor we can afford to waste."

"We do not consider such evaluations to be a waste of time," Nzz-oonaz said firmly. "Regardless, that is how it will be."

For a few beats Valloittaja looked in turn at each of the three searchers, his eyes large and liquid and with a pain and disappointment behind them that made Nzz-oonaz ache with shame for what his people were doing to these helpless victims of Conqueror Without Reason tyranny. But he had his instructions, and for a change both Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv remembered their places and also remained silent, and finally Valloittaja sighed. "If that is how it will be, then that is how it will be," he said, the forlorn resignation in his voice making Nzz-oonaz ache even more. "May I at least beg your leaders to perform their evaluation with the utmost speed?"

"They will," Nzz-oonaz promised, fighting against the urge to back down on this. It was not a decision he had any power to change. "We understand the dangers as well as you do."

The Mrachani smiled wanly. "I doubt that, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he said softly. "I doubt that very much."

Turning, he walked out of the conference room. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz?" the soft voice of an Elder said in Nzz-oonaz's ear. "There's a private pathway waiting for you aboard the Closed Mouth."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue silently in acknowledgment. "I need to go back to the ship for a few hunbeats," he said to Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv, playing their usual game wherever Elders were concerned. "You two go on back to our rooms, and I'll join you there soon."

An Elder was waiting for him in the room aboard the Closed Mouth where they held all their communications with Oaccanv. "Who is it?" Nzz-oonaz asked as he sealed the door behind him. "The Overclan Prime?"

"No," the Elder said darkly. "It's Searcher Thrr-gilag; Kee'rr."

Nzz-oonaz felt his midlight pupils narrow. Thrr-gilag? "Open the pathway," he ordered. "Thrr-gilag, this is a pleasant surprise."

The Elder didn't move. "May I remind you, Searcher, that this mission has an extremely high warrior security classification," he said. "You aren't supposed to be speaking with anyone except the Overclan Prime and Warrior Command."

"I understand that," Nzz-oonaz said. "But Thrr-gilag was once part of this study group, and I consider him to be one still. Besides, the fact that the Elders coordinating our communications have allowed him this contact implies the Overclan Prime has given him permission to speak with me. Please open the pathway."

"I obey," the Elder growled, his voice still deep with disapproval, and vanished.

He returned a few beats later. " 'For me, as well, Nzz-oonaz,' " he quoted Thrr-gilag's reply. " 'How are your discussions with the Mrachanis going?' "

"They're certainly interesting," Nzz-oonaz said. "Beyond that it's hard to say. Where are you, anyway? I thought you were supposed to come to Mra with us."

" 'That got changed at the last beat. I'm on Dorcas with my brother, Thrr-mezaz, and Klnn-dawan-a. We were sent here to study a Human prisoner and two Mrachanis who came claiming to be ambassadors.' "

"That's a relief," Nzz-oonaz said. "I was afraid you'd been staked out in a stream somewhere for the savagefish."

" 'You'd be surprised,' " the wry answer came back. " 'I know you're probably not supposed to be talking to me at all, so I'll keep this brief. Do you happen to have the metabolic data from the two Mrachanis we brought back to Oaccanv from Base World Twelve?' "

"The ones who warned us about the Human-Conquerors and then died?" Nzz-oonaz asked, swiveling a reader toward him and keying it on. "I think so. Why?"

He had the proper data located by the time the Elder returned. " 'I've got some metabolic baselines now for these two Mrachanis, and they don't seem to fit. But I don't have the original data to compare it with, so I thought maybe I was just remembering it wrong.' "

"Well, I've got the original data in front of me," Nzz-oonaz told him. "Go ahead and read me your numbers, and I'll read you these, and then we'll both have a set of each."

" 'Sounds good. Okay: oxygen metabolic usage: twelve-point-seven per hunbeat...' "

It took several hunbeats to get all the numbers transferred back and forth. And when they were finished, it was clear to Nzz-oonaz that Thrr-gilag's memory wasn't the problem. "You're right, this makes no sense at all," he said, flicking his tongue thoughtfully as he gazed at the parallel columns of numbers. "It almost looks like those other two Mrachanis were from an entirely different subspecies."

" 'You've seen a lot more Mrachanis than I have. Is that possible?' "

"Probably not," Nzz-oonaz had to concede. "I haven't seen any evidence of separate species or subspecies. None of their information lists mention such a thing, either."

He frowned as the Elder headed off with his message, gazing at the numbers again. There was a pattern there—he could almost taste it. But where was it?

" 'There's one other possibility,' " Thrr-gilag's answer came back a hunbeat later, " 'though I almost hesitate to bring it up. Klnn-dawan-a just pointed out to me that the Base World Mrachanis' metabolic rate would be consistent with some kind of slow poisoning.' "

Nzz-oonaz's tail twitched. There it was—the pattern he hadn't quite seen. "Klnn-dawan-a's a genius," he said, motioning the Elder to follow as he headed toward the study group's analysis room. "She's absolutely right. I don't know why none of us saw it before."

He had the analyzer going by the time the Elder returned. " 'I'll bet it's because the Mrachanis there haven't let you do any real examinations. I know ours here tried everything to get out of letting us look at them.' "

"You're half-right," Nzz-oonaz said as he keyed in the numbers Thrr-gilag had given him. "They've agreed to let us examine them, but somehow it's never happened."

" 'Without your even noticing, I'll bet. You know, I'm starting to get a really uneasy sense about these aliens.' "

"Welcome to the group," Nzz-oonaz said grimly. "The numbers are starting to come up. It's a toxin pattern, all right. And if the extrapolations are correct, the initial metabolic poisoning occurred just about a fullarc before they reached Base World Twelve."

" 'That would be right after they were captured by the Cakk'rr warship?' "

"Right," Nzz-oonaz confirmed. "And I'm not suggesting the Cakk'rr had anything to do with it."

The pause this time was longer, and Nzz-oonaz could visualize Thrr-gilag reluctantly coming to the same uncomfortable conclusion he himself had already reached. " 'Are you saying the Mrachanis poisoned themselves? Why would they do something like that?' "

"To achieve precisely the result they got," Nzz-oonaz said. "They were in a coma most of the way back to Oaccanv, woke up just long enough to deliver a warning about the Human-Conquerors to the Overclan Seating, and then died."

He threw a glance around the analysis room. "Sacrificing themselves so that we wouldn't have any other way to learn about them except to send a ship here."

" 'You think it's a trap, then?' " the reply came back. " 'That they're working with the Humans?' "

"I don't know," Nzz-oonaz said, flicking his tongue in a negative. "It could be. Personally, I'd guess they're doing this entirely on their own. Maybe they're telling the truth about being under Human-Conqueror domination and thought this was the only way to get us to talk to them."

" 'Maybe. Either way, we'd better alert Warrior Command and the Overclan Prime about it.' "

"Absolutely." Nzz-oonaz glanced at his armwatch. "I'll do it—I'm due to speak with the Prime in another twenty hunbeats anyway. Don't worry, though; I don't think they really trust the Mrachanis either. Certainly not after the events at Phormbi this postmidarc."

The Elder flicked his tongue. "You shouldn't refer to the Phormbi battle, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he said.

"Yes, you're right." Nzz-oonaz nodded. These former warriors could be a pain under the tongue sometimes, what with their rambling reminiscences and generally obsolete suggestions on how things had been done back in their fullarc. Occasionally, though, listening to them could help keep you out of trouble. "Send everything but that last sentence."

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

He was back a few beats later. " 'All right. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing, Nzz-oonaz. Thanks for the information.' "

"No problem," Nzz-oonaz assured him. "Thank you and Klnn-dawan-a for figuring out this metabolism thing. Farewell."

" 'Farewell.' "

And that was that, Nzz-oonaz said to himself: possibly the last stitch in the edgework on this proposed attack on Earth. Warrior Command, already leery, would undoubtedly insist on more evidence of Mrachani trustworthiness before risking their warships on such a mission.

Which might save them from a second ambush. Or might spook the Mrachanis into calling down the Human-Conquerors on them if they were in fact working for the enemy. Or might irreparably damage a potentially useful alliance if they weren't.

Or might do nothing at all except give the Human-Conquerors the time they needed to finish assembling CIRCE.

Nzz-oonaz grimaced, a sour taste under his tongue. Fortunately, he supposed, none of these potentially disastrous decisions were his to make. In this case he was little more than the communicator.

He looked at his armwatch again. Never mind the schedule; this one was important enough to interrupt Warrior Command. "Elder?"

"No," Commodore Montgomery said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"I'd respectfully request you reconsider, sir," Daschka said. His tone was quiet and respectful, but Montgomery wasn't fooled: the man had the full quota of arrogant self-confidence that seemed to come standard issue with NorCoord Military Intelligence operatives. "This is our chance to find out where this Zhirrzh raiding party came from."

Montgomery snorted. "Trust me, Mr. Daschka, we know exactly where they come from. In fact, we were supposed to be delivering this same sort of message to one of their worlds. Now I presume that delivery will be put on indefinite hold."

"What I mean is that this is our opportunity to learn whether or not the Zhirrzh and Mrachanis have put together some kind of deal," Daschka said. "Coincidentally or otherwise, they're currently headed off on a vector that will keep them out of range of every other Peacekeeper tachyon detector in these two sectors. If we let them get out of our range, too, we'll lose them."

One of the command ring displays flicked on: the damage report on the Antelope was finally in. "You have a ship, Mr. Daschka," Montgomery reminded the other tartly, running his eyes down the list. Not good, but it could be a lot worse. "If you want to go chasing after Zhirrzh warships, be my guest."

"We intend to," Daschka said patiently. "But chasing them down is only half the problem. If that fleet is headed for some cozy hideaway, they're going to be very unhappy when someone from our side shows up to take a look. I'd like to have enough firepower along so that we'll have half a chance of meshing in, seeing what's going on, and meshing back out again before we're blown to atoms."

"So ask the Yycromae," Montgomery growled, scrolling down the list and making a note on his plate. Good; the Antelope's life support was still functional. Maybe the techs could get their spare scrubber system over to the Galileo before the jury-rig there fell apart completely. "They seem to have firepower to spare at the moment."

"I'd rather not," Daschka said stiffly. "I don't altogether trust the Yycromae."

Carefully, Montgomery laid down his plate. "Look," he said, fixing Daschka with his best command-rank glare. "My task force has been demolished. You understand? Demolished. The only ship I would trust to fly right now is the fuel carrier Pelican, and that only because we left it back at the practice area when we charged in on this ridiculous rescue mission. I'm not going with you; I'm not assigning a ship to go with you; I'm not letting a ship go with you."

He leveled a finger. "And let me also point out that it's been your colleagues in NorCoord Intelligence who've been running around making sub-rosa armament agreements with the Yycromae. If you don't trust them, that's hardly a sterling endorsement for either you or your treaties."

"Commodore?" the comm-duty officer called. "There's a call coming in for a Mr. Daschka. Is he there with you?"

"Ensign, this is not Mr. Daschka's private answering service," Montgomery snapped. "Whoever it is can just file it."

"Yes, sir," the officer said. "Uh... it's the Klyveress ci Yyatoor, sir: Twelfth Counsel to the Yycroman Hierarch. She'd like to speak with Mr. Daschka."

Montgomery glowered at Daschka, stomach tightening with the unpleasant feeling of having just been had. "Thank you," he growled, punching for the channel and beckoning Daschka forward. "I believe it's for you."

Daschka moved to his side as the display lit up to reveal a crocodilian Yycroman face. "This is Daschka, ci Yyatoor," he said. "How can I serve you?"

[A skitter from Granparra has just arrived,] Klyveress said. [I presume the Peacekeeper forces detected it.]

Daschka glanced at Montgomery, a questioning look on his face. Montgomery shrugged in response. He'd been far too busy lately to notice any skitters, but he wasn't really surprised to hear that one had sneaked in. Come hell or high water, the mail always seemed to make it through.

[It contained an encrypted message for you,] the ci Yyatoor continued. [Would you like me to transmit it?]

"Yes, thank you," Daschka nodded, pulling out a card and sliding it into the transfer slot. "Go ahead."

The slot beeped, and he removed the card. [Commodore Lord Montgomery,] Klyveress said, the long snout shifting to point at him. [Allow me to present my gratitude for your unselfish and sacrificial aid in our time of critical need. The Yycroman Hierarchy and the Yycroman people will not soon forget.]

"You're welcome," Montgomery said, bowing his head toward the display and trying furiously to remember the proper protocol for dealing with Yycroman leaders. "May I also say that our sacrifices would have been considerably greater without the assistance and similar sacrifices of your people. We thank you in turn."

Klyveress inclined her head in acceptance. [It is to our mutual advantage to have your battle force repaired as quickly as possible, Commodore Lord Montgomery,] she said. [To that end I am placing our repair facilities at your complete disposal. I would beg you to take advantage of them.]

"You won't have to offer twice," Montgomery said. "I accept, again with thanks. With your permission I'll transfer this channel over to my fleet exec, who's coordinating our repair efforts."

[I will await with anticipation my conversation with him,] Klyveress said gravely. [I bid you farewell for now.]

Montgomery keyed for hold. "Transfer this to Captain Germaine," he called to the comm officer. "Tell him it's the Yycromae with an offer of assistance. And tell him to take everything they'll give him."

"Yes, sir."

Montgomery looked back to Daschka, who was frowning thoughtfully at his plate. "If that's all, then, we're very busy here," he told the other. "I'd appreciate your getting off my ship as soon as your partner finishes your refueling. And be sure you take that civilian Aric Cavanagh with you."

"We were planning to, Commodore," Daschka said, reversing the plate and offering it to him. "But before I go, you might find this interesting."

Grimacing, Montgomery took the plate and skimmed through the message. A senior NorCoord Intelligence officer—he noticed that, as with his copy of the Yycroman agreements, Daschka had discreetly screened off the officer's name—had found indications that two major Mrachani operations were imminent. The first—

"You'll notice that the first operation—Mirnacheem-hyeea One—was scheduled for today," Daschka pointed out. "As you may know, Mirnacheem-hyeea means Conquerors Without Reason; and on Day Zero we've just had a Conqueror attack on Phormbi. Coincidence?"

Montgomery shrugged noncommittally. "Why Phormbi?"

"Because this is where the Yycromae have been working to rebuild their space forces," Daschka said. "There's no particular reason why the Zhirrzh would have known about that. But we know for a fact that the Mrachanis did."

"Mm," Montgomery grunted, skimming over the rest of the message. The Intelligence officer had subsequently headed off to Mra to do some snooping around, taking Lord Stewart Cavanagh with him—"Lord Cavanagh?" he demanded, glaring up at Daschka again. "He's involved in this, too?"

"You'd be surprised at the things he's involved in," Daschka said ruefully. "I don't even think I know all of it."

Montgomery nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. It was becoming increasingly and annoyingly difficult to swing a dead cat around this war without hitting something Lord Cavanagh had had a hand in, from secret Yycroman agreements to former employees who had their own individualistic idea of how orders were supposed to be carried out. And that whole thing was just one more headache he didn't need right now.

He paused, a sudden idea occurring to him. Maybe this was his chance to kill two birds with one stone. Or at least chase one of the birds out of his hair for a while. "Tell you what," he said to Daschka. "I can't spare you any capital ships; but what I can do is let you have a single fighter and a pilot. You can put it in your forward hold where it'll be ready to launch if you run into trouble. It'll be better than nothing, anyway."

Daschka pursed his lips. "I suppose so," he conceded. "Very well, I accept. I don't suppose this fighter will be in anything close to mint condition."

"No, but it's not as bad as some we've got aboard," Montgomery assured him. "You'll have a few hours; perhaps you can make some running repairs. Oh, and I won't be able to spare you a tail man, either—we need him aboard."

"This sounds better all the time," Daschka said dryly. "Is the pilot at least conscious?"

"Conscious, in perfect health, and one of the best," Montgomery assured him. "I'll have the orders cut immediately, and he'll be in the hangar bay by the time you're ready to leave."

"We'll be expecting him," Daschka said. "May I ask his name?"

"Certainly," Montgomery said. "Copperhead Lieutenant Adam Quinn. Former—and also probably future—employee of Lord Stewart Cavanagh."

Daschka shook his head. "Why," he said, "am I not surprised?"

Speaker Cvv-panav sipped at his cup of aged Minsinc wine. "Interesting," he said. "Tell me this, Searcher Gll-borgiv: do you still trust him?"

The Elder nodded and vanished. Cvv-panav sipped again at his wine, savoring the delicate aroma of the glycerol and flavorings, and touched another key on his reader. There was a beat, and then the listing came up.

The Elder returned. " 'Implicitly, Speaker Cvv-panav,' " he quoted Gll-borgiv's words. " 'Everything Valloittaja told us about Phormbi and the Yycromae was subsequently proved to be correct.' "

"Except for the part about the Human-Conqueror attack," Cvv-panav pointed out. "Did he have anything to say about that?"

The Elder vanished, and the Speaker turned his attention back to the listing. All right. The first five warships were already in position, less than two tentharcs from their respective rendezvous points. Six others would be in position in another fullarc, plus the three from the Phormbi attack force if he decided they were still reasonably battle capable. The follow-up forces would be more complicated; still, if he started breaking into the various colony-world fleets before they were reassembled...

The Elder reappeared. " 'He has repeatedly warned us the Yycromae are allies of the Conquerors Without Reason. I don't consider the unexpected appearance of that attack force to be in any way a failure of Mrach intelligence.' "

And perhaps you're just too easy to please, Cvv-panav thought contemptuously. But that didn't matter. He, Speaker Cvv-panav, was the one making the decisions here, and he was safely detached from whatever warm, fuzzy image of themselves the Mrachanis had been weaving around the young fools of the contact team. Of course the Mrachanis were fallible. They were possibly even untrustworthy.

But the opportunity was just too good to pass up. "Has he given you any more details about this supposed plan they have for slipping our warships in through Human-Conqueror space?"

The Elder nodded and vanished. All right, Cvv-panav said to himself, studying his reader. Follow-up forces. Four warships from the Dharanv defense forces—no problem; they were all under the authority of the Dhaa'rr Leadership Council, which answered solely to him. Three more warships, commanded and crewed exclusively by Dhaa'rr, had been recalled from the Etsiji and Chigin encirclement forces and were on their way to bolster the various Zhirrzh beachheads. They would have to be diverted without Warrior Command noticing....

The Elder flicked back. " 'Searcher Nzz-oonaz wouldn't listen to him, but I myself have had two further private discussions with him. He informs me the technique is very workable and is in fact similar to the one the enemy used at Phormbi. Eight to ten Mrach spacecraft will be attached to each Zhirrzh warship and will literally tow them through the tunnel-line. Without their own tunnel drives operating, our warships will not create the distinctive supraluminal trail markings that the Conquerors Without Reason use to identify approaching spacecraft. They will detect only the Mrachani craft.' "

"Yes," the Speaker murmured. He would have to take the Mrachani's word for that, but it sounded reasonable enough. "And he still feels he can guarantee complete surprise?"

" 'Without a doubt,' " the confident reply came. " 'All the ships would converge on Earth along different vectors. There would thus not be any large groups of ships coming in from a single direction to arouse suspicion.' "

Cvv-panav smiled cynically. And it might also help conceal the Mrachanis' role from vengeful Human-Conqueror survivors. But that was all right. Enlightened self-interest was, after all, the summation line for all thinking creatures. He'd have been far more suspicious if this Valloittaja hadn't taken careful steps to protect his own neck.

And it meant Mrachani ships would be right there with the Zhirrzh warships for this attack. After Phormbi that was something he would have insisted on even if their transport method hadn't required it. "Very well, then, Searcher Gll-borgiv," he said. "Inform Valloittaja that despite the failure at Phormbi, our private agreement remains in force. The Dhaa'rr clan will assist them in this attack on Earth."

He held up a finger as the Elder began to nod. "And remind him, Searcher Gll-borgiv," he added darkly, "that this is still to be kept a private matter between him and you. No one else must hear anything about this."

He waved the Elder permission to leave, then turned back to his reader. Yes, it would be tricky; but with a first-strike force of fourteen warships and a follow-up force of at least ten more, he had enough firepower here to turn the Mrachanis' so-called Conquerors Two operation into a devastating and decisive strike at the very throat of the Human-Conqueror race.

And with that victory would come his final political triumph over those of the Zhirrzh who had set themselves in opposition to him and the Dhaa'rr clan. From the lowliest Elder all the way up to the Overclan Prime himself.

So let the nornin-hearted of Warrior Command count their wounds and list their new Elders and debate this or that or the other. What mattered now was courage and resolve and action; and as it had so many times in the past, the Dhaa'rr clan would show the way.

"There it is," Bronski said, pointing out the window of their rented aircar toward the horizon. "Puvkit Tru Kai, the Garden Of The Mad Stonewright. Interesting formations, the odd bit of unusual plant life, and a fortress carved into solid rock you could hide a battalion in."

"So what now?" Cavanagh asked, shading his eyes as he peered out at the distant rock formations. "We just fly over and knock?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Kolchin said tightly. "That aircar making a dropline toward us would probably object."

"Where?" Bronski asked.

"Coming straight out of the sun."

"I see him," Bronski nodded. "Let's set down and see if he's interested in talking."

He keyed for landing, and as the computer eased off the aft jets and eased in the underside jets, the aircar dropped smoothly to the ground with only a gentle bump to announce its arrival. A moment later the other aircraft landed fifty meters away, its nose pointed at the rental's side. "At least they're learning some basic tactics," Bronski grunted as he popped the catch and let the gull-wing door swing up. "Okay, it's show time. You two better stay here. Kolchin?"

"I'm ready," the bodyguard assured him, his flechette pistol lying unobtrusively across his lap. "What's the cue if you want me to open fire?"

"Standard commando flash-hand signal," Bronski told him, climbing out. "Go for the antenna cluster first—extra company will be high on our list of things to avoid. Oh, and try to give me time to hit the ground first."

He headed off across the uneven ground toward the other aircar. He'd covered about half the distance when its gull-wings swung open and two Mrachanis got out of the left-hand side.

Out of the right-hand side squeezed a Bhurt.

"Uh-oh," Cavanagh muttered as the alien lumbered around the nose of the aircar toward Bronski.

"Don't panic," Kolchin murmured. "If they were going to shoot first, they wouldn't have sent him out the far side."

Bronski hardly even glanced at the Bhurt as the alien came to a stop beside him. For a few minutes he talked earnestly with the Mrachanis, his posture one of authority and confidence, the wallet folder containing his forged red card prominent in his hand. One of the Mrachanis took the wallet at one point and examined the card closely before almost reluctantly handing it back. Bronski returned it to his jacket, and with a crisp nod he turned and walked back toward the aircar. The Bhurt and Mrachanis got back into their vehicle and, in a cloud of dust, lifted into the air.

"How did it go?" Cavanagh asked as Bronski climbed back into the pilot's seat.

"A little mixed," Bronski shrugged. "I told them we'd been hired to look over their outside security arrangements."

"And they bought that?" Kolchin asked.

"They bought the red card, anyway," Bronski said. "But I don't think they were very happy about doing it."

"Sounds like our clock is ticking down," Kolchin said. "Maybe we should go in for our look and get out."

"Patience," Bronski said, gazing thoughtfully at the rock formations in the distance. "They seemed marginally less nervous about our presence here when I let on that we had no idea about what was going on inside the rim fortress. I imagine they'll be watching us, so let's be good little boys and stay out here at the perimeter for a while. Maybe by the time they get bored, we'll have spotted a back door into that fortress."

"Meanwhile, they'll be burning up the lines to the capital to check out your red card," Cavanagh pointed out.

"Let 'em," Bronski grunted. "The authorizing signature's the name of a Mrachani who happens to be on meditation-retreat at the moment. Take them hours to even locate him."

He started to key in the drive; paused. "Two other things," he said. "The Mrachanis told me to shut down all my radars and radios, which tells me that whatever's going on in there is highly sensitive to electromagnetic radiation. Both of you ought to keep that in mind if we need to create a diversion on our way out."

He half turned in his seat to face the others. "Final point, then. If I read that card right on Granparra, the Conquerors One operation starts sometime today. May have already started, for that matter. The bad news is that if it's a straight military operation, it means someone in Yycroman space is going to get pounded; the good news is that the fact that we're the only humans in sight implies the operation doesn't involve Peacekeeper forces. So we're out of it."

Cavanagh felt a hard knot in his stomach. The mental image of the gravely dignified Klyveress ci Yyatoor dying amid the wreckage of one of her worlds was an oddly distressing one. "Isn't there any way to stop it?"

"Not a chance," Bronski said flatly. "If it's a long-term campaign, we might be able to cut it short, but probably not. My point is that we need to consider Conquerors One to be a done deal, and to concentrate all our efforts on figuring out Conquerors Two. That's the one we might still have a chance of stopping. Understood?"

Cavanagh nodded. "Understood."