Conquerors' Legacy

25

An Elder suddenly appeared in the grayworld in front of him. "There you are," he snapped. "I've been looking all over for you, Cvv't-rokik. Didn't you hear the announcement for all Elders to assemble in the Closed Mouth's command room?"

Thrr't-rokik grimaced. Of course he hadn't heard—the announcement had undoubtedly been made directly to the collection of fsss cuttings in the pyramid. "I didn't realize it was to be immediately," he improvised. "I was asked to watch over these supplies and make sure they were properly delivered."

"Asked by whom?" the Elder demanded suspiciously.

"One of the warriors," Thrr't-rokik said. On his way out of the ship he'd overheard something.... "He told me to make sure the supplies arrived all right since the members of the study group were sleeping."

The Elder flicked his tongue, still obviously suspicious. But it apparently wasn't worth the effort of checking up on. "All right, get going," he growled. "But as soon as they're delivered, get yourself back to the ship and the meeting."

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

The Elder flicked his tongue again and vanished. Another Elder appeared nearby, glanced briefly at Thrr't-rokik and the supply cart, then left without speaking. A few beats later a third Elder appeared, this one moving in and out of the boxes on the cart before similarly leaving. Clearly, they were approaching the study group's quarters and the Elders assigned to watch over them; and if Thrr't-rokik didn't want to have to keep explaining his presence here, a strategic withdrawal was probably called for.

Fortunately, with his fsss cutting already a thoustride away from the Closed Mouth, there was an obvious place to hide. Zipping forward ahead of the wobbly supply cart, he stretched out to the full length of his anchorline, moving out of range of the Elders in the hangar area.

It was more of the same up there: more stone tunnels and more dimly lit stone rooms. Also more deserted. He drifted in and out through the walls without seeing any signs of life or habitation. Apparently, this part of the fortress wasn't being used right now.

Or rather, he corrected himself, not being used very much. From the wall to his right came a faint but distinct thunking sound, followed by something that might have been voices. He moved through the wall to investigate—

And jolted to a stop, dropping reflexively into the safety of the grayworld.

The room was indeed occupied. By three Human-Conquerors.

Cautiously, fighting against the urge to zip away out of there, he moved to one of the upper corners of the room and rose again toward the lightworld. Two of the three Human-Conquerors were seated on low metal couchlike structures placed against one wall, while the third knelt at the door tapping methodically on the end of a long rigid sliver of some black material with a piece of rock. The other end of the sliver had been inserted behind a metal plate set into one side of a wooden door. A lock mechanism, perhaps?

A quiet surge of relief flooded over Thrr't-rokik as the truth suddenly hit him. These Human-Conquerors weren't a prelude to attack, nor were they evidence of Mrach treachery. On the contrary, they were Mrach prisoners.

One of the two seated Human-Conquerors was speaking. Easing a little closer to the lightworld, Thrr't-rokik focused his attention and his freshly obtained knowledge of the Human-Conqueror language and listened.

"I'm surprised they haven't killed us," the alien was saying. "I'd have thought keeping us alive would be dangerous."

The other seated alien moved his head back and forth to the side. "Don't worry, Cavanagh, they'll kill us soon enough," he said. "But not before they use us against the Zhirrzh."

"How?" the first asked.

"No idea," the second answered. "Some way that helps (something) their position here. Maybe they'll tell the Zhirrzh we came to attack them. Maybe even stage a real attack. Kill a couple of them and blame us."

"And our side of the story won't be mentioned?" the first Human-Conqueror said.

"I'm sure we'll be dead before anyone asks us," the second said.

The first made a rude-sounding noise and the conversation ceased.

For perhaps a hunbeat Thrr't-rokik continued to watch, running the words he'd heard through his mind and wondering if he could have misinterpreted them. The warriors on the Willing Servant had spoken of the Mrachanis as allies of the Zhirrzh. They wouldn't deliberately attack the study group. Surely these Human-Conquerors were lying.

But if they weren't...

He found Searcher Nzz-oonaz asleep in one of the rooms of the study group's quarters. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz?" he said softly, trying to watch in all directions at once for other Elders. If he was caught waking up the group's speaker without orders, they would take the effort to check up on him. "Searcher?"

Nzz-oonaz's eyes fluttered open, the lowlight pupils widening a little as the others stayed narrowed to slits. "Um?" he murmured. He focused on Thrr't-rokik's face and frowned—

"I'm not one of your usual Elders," Thrr't-rokik told him. "My name is Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. I'm Thrr-gilag's father—I think you and I met once a few cyclics ago."

"Um," Nzz-oonaz murmured again, nodding this time in recognition. He gestured toward the ceiling, flicking his tongue in the universal signal for caution.

Thrr't-rokik nodded back; they'd been warned aboard ship that the Mrachanis were probably monitoring all conversations. While the Elders themselves couldn't be heard, the physicals still had to be careful what they said aloud. "I'm actually not supposed to be here at all," he told Nzz-oonaz, "so I'll ask this quickly. Are you aware that the Mrachanis have taken three Human-Conqueror prisoners and are holding them about four thoustrides north of here?"

Nzz-oonaz's lowlight pupils narrowed, and he flicked his tongue in a negative. "You're sure they haven't told you about them?" Thrr't-rokik persisted. "Because they're there. I saw them, not two hunbeats ago." He hesitated. "And this might not mean anything, but they were speculating that the Mrachanis were planning to raise some Zhirrzh to Eldership and blame it on them. I don't know why—it doesn't make much sense to me."

Nzz-oonaz's expression was suddenly fully awake. Sliding off his couch, he snagged his jumpsuit and put it on. Gesturing Thrr't-rokik to follow, he left the room and headed down the corridor toward the hangar area.

The corridor was bustling with Zhirrzh and Mrachanis—and hidden Elders—as more of the supplies brought from the Willing Servant were shifted around. Nzz-oonaz kept going, not stopping to talk, until they'd reached the Closed Mouth. Still silently, he led the way inside and back to the rearmost section of the ship, ending up finally in a small room nestled in among the softly humming engines.

"All right," he said after he'd sealed the door behind him. "The technics believe this room should be impossible for the Mrachanis to monitor. Tell me again what you saw and heard."

"I saw three Human-Conqueror prisoners," Thrr't-rokik said. "They're locked in a small room in a part of the fortress that seems to be otherwise deserted. They were talking among themselves about the possibility that the Mrachanis planned to use them against us, and then kill them."

"Any idea how long they'd been there?"

"Long enough for one of them to start trying to damage the door lock," Thrr't-rokik said. "Not long enough for him to make any progress."

"You're sure the door was locked, then?" Nzz-oonaz asked.

"Actually, I didn't check," Thrr't-rokik admitted. "The mechanism was metal—"

"Go check now," Nzz-oonaz ordered. "And while you're there, see if you can find out whether the Human-Conquerors are armed."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said automatically, and flicked back along his anchorline. One of the Human-Conquerors was still sitting on the couch, while the other was still working on the door. The third, though, was now walking slowly along one wall, hands and eyes systematically examining a horizontal crack that ran around the entire room. As unobtrusively as possible, Thrr't-rokik completed the checks Nzz-oonaz had asked for, then flicked back to the ship.

Another Elder was in the room with Nzz-oonaz when he returned, and a second was just leaving. "I've ordered the warriors put on full alert," Nzz-oonaz told Thrr't-rokik. "What did you find?"

"It does appear to be a lock," Thrr't-rokik said, "The Human-Conquerors also don't seem to be armed, though two of them are wearing what seem to be holsters that would accommodate small hand weapons."

"That would fit if they were Mrach prisoners," the Elder rumbled thoughtfully. "Warriors merely playing a role, on the other side, would more likely retain their weapons."

"Unless their warriors behave differently than ours would," Nzz-oonaz said. "No, that's wrong. Pheylan Cavanagh was a warrior, and he was carrying a small hand weapon when he was captured."

"Pheylan Cavanagh?" Thrr't-rokik murmured, half to himself, as the name jogged his memory.

"You have something?" Nzz-oonaz asked.

"It may mean nothing," Thrr't-rokik said slowly, "but I heard one of the Human-Conqueror prisoners call one of the others Cavanagh. Could he be related to Pheylan Cavanagh?"

"It's possible," Nzz-oonaz said, frowning. "Cavanagh would be the family name, and they frequently use those alone as identification." He gestured to the other Elder. "Open a pathway to Thrr-gilag on Dorcas. Maybe he knows more about Pheylan Cavanagh's family."

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

"I didn't mean for you to go to this much trouble," Thrr't-rokik said, feeling more than a little awkward.

"It's no trouble," Nzz-oonaz assured him. "Actually, you've got me curious now, too."

Thrr't-rokik grimaced. "I suppose I should also say that I'm not trying to damage any of the diplomatic work you've been doing here. There may be some completely innocent explanation for why the Mrachanis haven't told you about those prisoners."

"Trust me, Thrr't-rokik," Nzz-oonaz said grimly. "To some of us the Mrachanis are looking less and less innocent all the time."

The Elder flicked back. "I'm sorry, Searcher Nzz-oonaz, but normal communications with the ground-warrior beachhead on Dorcas have been suspended. Only pathways going through specifically designated Elders are being allowed."

"What designated Elders?" Nzz-oonaz demanded. "Who ordered this?"

"I don't know," the Elder said. "But I noticed that both of the allowed Elders carry Dhaa'rr-clan names. And the Elder I talked with hinted the order had come down from the Speaker for Dhaa'rr himself."

Thrr't-rokik looked at Nzz-oonaz, found the other looking back at him. "I don't like this, Thrr't-rokik," the young searcher said quietly. "Not at all."

"Perhaps you should speak to the Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik suggested, trying to suppress his own apprehension. "He'll know what's going on."

"Maybe," Nzz-oonaz countered. "The problem is that all our direct communication pathways to Warrior Command and the Overclan Prime are under the accuracy-control monitoring of Dhaa'rr Elders."

"I object to your inferences, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," the other Elder said stiffly. "My communicators are all former warriors themselves, completely professional in the performance of their duties. They would not allow clan politics to interfere."

"I'm sure that under most circumstances that would be true," Nzz-oonaz said. "But I'm beginning to wonder whether the circumstances here are normal anymore. Can you guarantee—really and thoroughly guarantee—that none of the Dhaa'rr Elders aboard the Closed Mouth would pass the content of a private conversation to Speaker Cvv-panav? Especially if the Speaker was the target of that conversation?"

The Elder flicked his tongue. "No," he conceded. "I cannot positively guarantee that."

Nzz-oonaz looked at Thrr't-rokik, the frustration in his expression suddenly turned to something else. "Wait a beat. Thrr't-rokik, where's your fsss?"

"You mean my cutting?" Thrr't-rokik asked cautiously.

"No, your main fsss. Is it anywhere near Unity City?"

"Not really," Thrr't-rokik said. "It's at the Thrr-family shrine near Cliffside Dales, about forty-three hundred thoustrides away."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue. "No more than a couple of tentharcs' flight away, though. This could work. Is there anyone there you can trust? I mean really trust."

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "Thrr-tulkoj. He was chief protector for the shrine, and a close personal friend of Thrr-gilag's. I've already trusted him with my family's honor, and he hasn't failed me."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue again. "We'll have to risk it. Go tell him to get to somewhere where he can't be easily overheard. As soon as he's in position, come back so I can talk to him. Have you ever done communicator work before?"

"Not really," Thrr't-rokik said.

"You'll pick it up," Nzz-oonaz assured him. "Get going."

"It's really quite simple," the taller of the two Zhirrzh said, his voice quiet and almost courteous. "We've been authorized by the Overclan Seating to search for evidence of criminal activity here. Until that search has been completed, we're in command on Dorcas. You can either accept that and cooperate, or you can join Commander Thrr-mezaz in detention inside the Human-Conqueror transport."

"Most considerate of them to provide it for us," the second Zhirrzh added. He was over in the corner, contemplating the thick-walled metal safe where Prr't-zevisti's fsss cutting had been hidden barely a tentharc ago. "A solid metal aircraft means we can isolate him from the Elders, too."

"Your authorization makes no mention of locking him away," Thrr-gilag argued, trying hard to keep his tail calm and knowing full well he wasn't succeeding.

"Our authorization allows us to do our job any way we see fit," the taller Zhirrzh said, his voice hardening. "We see Commander Thrr-mezaz as a troublemaker, and he'll remain out of communication until we've found what we're looking for."

Not if they found it; when they found it. They knew about the cutting, all right. "But it's dangerous," Thrr-gilag protested. "He's also isolated from his fsss in there. If the Humans launch another attack, he could die."

"That's a danger, all right," the taller Zhirrzh nodded. "Let's hope we find what we're looking for quickly."

An Elder appeared. "We've finished searching the transport," he reported. "They haven't found"—he glanced at Thrr-gilag—"anything unusual."

"As expected," the taller Zhirrzh said equably. "Shift those Elders to a search of the ground beneath the route the transport came in on. They may have thrown it outside when they saw our ship."

The Elder grimaced—highly offended, no doubt, by the suggestion that a fsss cutting might have been treated with such horrendous disrespect. "I obey," he growled, and vanished.

"Or are we wasting our time?" the second Zhirrzh suggested, eyeing Thrr-gilag. "Have you hidden it somewhere out of the Elders' range?"

"At the Human-Conqueror stronghold, for instance?" the other put in. "Was that the real reason you went there?"

"I went there because the new prisoner needs a healer," Thrr-gilag said, forcing some firmness into his voice. They were drifting uncomfortably close to the truth here. "He needs treatment, and I need him alive if I'm to complete my studies. You've searched the healer; can't you now let her treat him?"

The taller Zhirrzh shrugged. "I don't see why not," he said. "Communicator?"

"I'll need to go with her," Thrr-gilag added as an Elder appeared. "She'll need a translator."

The two Zhirrzh looked at each other, and the shorter shrugged slightly. "Again, why not?" the taller said. "The two Human-Conqueror prisoners are still together. You may take the healer and her equipment across to them."

Pheylan Cavanagh was sleeping when Thrr-gilag and Melinda Cavanagh arrived, his breathing making unpleasant rasping noises. "Glad you're here, Doc," Sergeant Janovetz said as Melinda Cavanagh set her share of equipment down and opened one of the containers. "I've given him a unit of glavamorphine from his survival pack, but he's not doing too good."

"No, he's not," Melinda Cavanagh agreed, feeling gingerly around the discolored flesh. "But I think I can fix him up."

Casually, Thrr-gilag looked around. Hovering above and behind both Humans, keeping back out of their sight, were a pair of watchful Elders. He looked back at Melinda Cavanagh, found her looking sideways at him, and shook his head back and forth in the Human gesture for no. Her head tilted slightly in understanding, and she turned her attention back to her work.

For now Prr't-zevisti and his fsss cutting would have to stay hidden in the box.

"Overclan Prime?"

The Prime started awake, jostling his reader onto the floor beside his couch. The last thing he remembered was settling onto the couch to read more of the warrior reports.... "Yes, what is it?" he asked, focusing on the Elder hovering in front of him.

It was the Twentieth, his pale face set in unusually grim lines. "There's a pathway just opened up for you from a protector in the Kee'rr town of Cliffside Dales," he said. "I think you should speak with him."

"Now?" the Prime said, glancing at his armwatch. It wasn't a particularly civilized tentharc out in the Kee'rr homeland, either. "What's so important that he has to talk to me personally?"

"I don't know," the Twentieth said. "He won't give his message to anyone but you. But he has one of the private recognition codes you arranged with Searcher Nzz-oonaz."

The Prime frowned. What was Nzz-oonaz doing, calling out of the mission's carefully established Elder pathways? Or was this merely a case of some Elder leaking the recognition code? "All right," he sighed. "I suppose I ought to talk with him. Open the pathway."

The Twentieth nodded and vanished. The Prime picked up the reader, checked how much he had yet to read. It was a depressingly large amount. Worse, even with all the time he'd now lost to sleep, he still didn't feel particularly rested.

The Twentieth returned. " 'I greet you, Overclan Prime,' " he quoted, " 'and apologize for the lateness of this message. My name is Protector Thrr-tulkoj; Kee'rr. I have been asked by Searcher Nzz-oonaz; Flii'rr, to deliver a message to you. The recognition code he gave me is Mistrand over Kylee.' "

The Prime felt his tongue press against the inside of his mouth, his mind dragging itself fully awake. This wasn't just one of the private recognition codes he'd set up. This was the signal that indicated potentially serious trouble with the rest of the mission. "Understood," he said. "I'm listening."

The Twentieth vanished, reappearing a few beats later. " 'Searcher Nzz-oonaz would like you to meet with me out here as quickly as possible.' "

"Why?"

" 'He doesn't want to explain over an open pathway. I don't even know myself. But he assures me it is very important.' "

The Prime frowned. "What do you think?" he asked the Twentieth.

"I don't know what to think," the other said frankly. "I've had the servers double-check the list of Elders on the Closed Mouth, and none of them are from shrines anywhere near Cliffside Dales."

"What about from the Willing Servant!" the Prime asked. "It had a large contingent of observer Elders aboard, and they should have reached Mra by now."

"Also checked," the Twentieth replied. "Again, none from that part of Kee'rr territory. This could be a trick of some sort."

"Let's find out," the Prime said. "Send this: does he want me to come alone?"

"Good idea," the Twentieth said approvingly, and vanished. Reaching to his reader, the Prime cleared the warrior reports and pulled up the two Elder lists himself. The Twentieth was right: not a single Elder was from that region. What in the eighteen worlds was Nzz-oonaz doing? And how was he doing it?

The wait this time was longer, as if the protector had had to discuss the question with someone else. But after a hunbeat or so the Twentieth returned. " 'Nzz-oonaz urges you not to come alone,' " he quoted. " 'He recommends you bring warriors you can trust.' "

"Interestingly worded," the Prime commented.

"Yes," the Twentieth agreed. "If it's a trap, at least the trapper is avoiding the obvious."

Another Elder appeared: the Fourteenth. "I've done an independent trace of the pathway, Overclan Prime," he reported. "The origination point is indeed in the Kee'rr village of Cliffside Dales."

"Any idea which Elder he's talking to Nzz-oonaz through?"

"Not yet," the Fourteenth said. "They're still trying to track that down."

The Prime nodded, gesturing to the Twentieth. "Very well, I'll come as soon as I can," he dictated. "Where do I meet you?"

The Twentieth vanished. A half dozen of the previous Primes had gathered in the room now, the Prime noticed as he crossed back to his desk, listening with silent intensity. Activating the desk reader, he called up a map and an aerial photo of the Cliffside Dales area and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. " 'I recommend a group of hills at the eastern edge of the Amt'bri River Valley approximately twenty thoustrides west of Cliffside Dales,' " the Twentieth quoted. " 'There's room for transports to land, as well as the privacy Searcher Nzz-oonaz wishes.' "

"There," the Fourth said, dropping down to the Prime's shoulder and jabbing a tongue at the map. "It's certainly got privacy."

"Yet it's not forested," the Twenty-second added. "That implies no easily concealed ambush waiting for you. And on top of hills you'll have good warning of unwanted arrivals after you land."

"Yes," the Prime murmured, studying the photos. It certainly looked like a reasonable place for a legitimate meeting.

And if it was a trap, he was rather interested in seeing how the plotters intended springing it. "I'll be there in two tentharcs," he said. "Will you be alone?"

" 'I certainly intend to be,' " the Twentieth brought back the rather dry answer. " 'If I'm not, you'd better assume something's wrong.' "

"Understood," the Prime said. "Tell Searcher Nzz-oonaz I'll look forward to hearing what he has to say." He gestured to the Twentieth. "Relay that, then close the pathway. Twenty-second, alert Commander Oclan-barjak to prepare five transports and ten sectrenes of his most trustworthy warriors. We'll leave as soon as they're ready."

The two Elders vanished. "I hope you know what you're doing, my son," the Twenty-eighth said quietly, moving up beside the Prime.

"I do," the Prime said firmly, opening the storage drawer of his desk and pulling out the packed travel bag he always kept there. "I trust Nzz-oonaz's judgment. Besides, I'll be well protected."

"Even excellent judgment can be manipulated," the Twenty-eighth reminded him. "And if the Speaker for Dhaa'rr is behind this, the goal may not be an overt attack. It might merely be a ploy to draw you out of Unity City for a few tentharcs."

"I don't know what that would gain anyone," the Prime said. "I'll hardly be out of communication with the Overclan Seating or Warrior Command anywhere along the way."

"It may not have anything to do with you at all," the Fourth said darkly. "At least not directly." He jabbed his tongue meaningfully at the desk's secure drawer.

The drawer containing the box that Speaker Cvv-panav had thrust into his face the previous fullarc. With Prr't-zevisti's fsss organ inside.

Cvv-panav himself was supposedly back on Dharanv, but of course that didn't mean anything. If this was his scheme, his agents would already be in place inside the Overclan Complex. "You have a point," he agreed, unlocking the drawer and withdrawing the box. "But I think we can fix that."

"How?" the Seventeenth asked. "Where can you hide it that would be more secure than here?"

"In a place where thousands of Elders would be available to witness its theft," the Prime told him, sliding the box into an empty pouch of his travel bag.

"After also witnessing a direct attack on the Overclan Prime himself," the Fourth said, nodding his approval. "Excellent."

"At least not unreasonable," the Seventeenth said doubtfully. "A clever ploy might still succeed."

"What sort of ploy?" the Fourth scoffed. "The Prime will have some of the Overclan's best warriors with him—"

"Whatever's going on, we'll soon know all about it," the Prime cut them off, his tongue flicking impatiently. Never, he swore to himself, never, never, never would he fall into this infuriating habit of second-guessing the decisions of the Overclan Prime when he himself was raised to Eldership. "Seventeenth, go tell Commander Oclan-barjak I'm on my way to the transport hangar."

He set off down the hallway, still seething, the warriors falling into step around him. And tried not to wonder how many of the former Primes back there had promised themselves exactly the same thing.

The relays cracked, a much louder sound down in the forward hold than it was up on the flight deck. Once again, the Happenstance had meshed in.

"Here we go again," Quinn said, his voice muffled as he floated in the zero-gee, his arms and head inside the Corvine's starboard sensor access panel.

"Okay, fire it up," Daschka's voice came over the open intercom to the flight deck. "Let's see if they've gone to ground yet."

"Right," Cho Ming's voice answered.

"A little straighter, please," Quinn said.

"Sorry," Aric apologized, shifting the angle of the diagnostic display he was holding so that Quinn could see it better over his shoulder. They'd meshed in perhaps a dozen times already since leaving the Trafalgar, returning to normal space to track the movements of the fleeing Zhirrzh warships. A perfectly straightforward pursuit strategy, apparently straight out of the NorCoord Military Intelligence manual.

Except that in this case Aric was starting to wonder if the technique was going to backfire on them. Every time they meshed in and the fleeing Zhirrzh warships didn't, the pursuers fell a few minutes farther behind the prey. Already the warships were right on the edge of Cho Ming's wake-trail detector; another three or four of these stops and they'd be out of range completely.

"Nope," Cho Ming said. "There they are, still chugging along."

"I see them," Daschka growled. Maybe he was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea, too. "Anyone else out there?"

"Actually, this time there is," Cho Ming told him, "Coming in roughly from the direction of Mra-mig."

"Mrachanis?"

"Hang on," Cho Ming said. "It's a strange reading—give me a second to sort it out."

Carefully, Quinn eased his way out of the access panel, steadying himself with a grip on the edge of the access opening as he looked over toward the intercom. The silence from the flight deck grew a little thicker....

"Got it," Cho Ming said. "It's a group of Mrach transports flying in loose formation. Breaks down to ten Hrenn-class heavy-haulers."

"They on an intercept course with the Zhirrzh?" Daschka asked.

"No," Cho Ming said. "Looks like the vector cuts along their backtrail."

"Are they on an intercept with us?" Quinn called.

"Doesn't look like it," Cho Ming replied. "Though if we keep going... hold it."

"What?" Daschka asked.

"They've meshed in," Cho Ming said. "Somewhere about four light-years ahead of us."

"Directly ahead?" Quinn called.

"No," Cho Ming said. "About thirty degrees wide of our vector."

"They may not have anything to do with us or the Zhirrzh, actually," Daschka added. "There's a solar system over there. Could be mining ships."

"Maybe," Cho Ming agreed. "Wait a second, we've got another group just meshing out. Two Hrenn haulers this time, heading away from the same area where the other group meshed in."

"Sounds like a mining operation, all right," Daschka concluded. "Let's get back to the focus at hand. Are the Zhirrzh still holding their original course?"

"Pretty much," Cho Ming said. "They've shifted a few degrees... I'll be damned."

"What?" Daschka asked.

"You're going to love this one, Daschka," Cho Ming said, his voice suddenly tight. "We chased ten Zhirrzh ships away from Phormbi, right?"

"Right," Daschka said. "Plus the one that had already left ahead of them."

"Right," Cho Ming said. "Well, of those ten I'm only reading seven now. In the thirty-two minutes since our last wake-trail reading three of them have meshed back in."

"Have they, now," Daschka said softly. "Quinn, you might want to step up here."

Cho Ming had finished his preliminary analysis by the time Quinn and Aric reached the flight deck. "All right," he said, running a spot pointer across a large-scale on one of the displays. "Here's my best-guess scenario. Right after we meshed out the last time, three Zhirrzh ships broke away from the pack and headed along this vector, meshing back in again in the cometary halo of this system over here. The rest continued on, hoping we wouldn't notice they'd lost some numbers."

"And the Mrach haulers are running a supply line?" Quinn asked.

"Or else helping with repairs," Daschka said. "Between the Trafalgar and the Yycromae, the Zhirrzh lost a brickload of lasers. Quinn, how fast can you put that Corvine back together?"

"Not fast enough," Quinn said. "Two hours, maybe one."

Daschka made a face. "Damn."

"Not fast enough for what?" Aric asked.

"Not fast enough for us to split up," Daschka growled. "We've got two targets, and only one ship to chase them with. Means we have to flip a coin."

"If we're going to follow the main fleet, we need to mesh out right away," Cho Ming warned. "Otherwise, we're going to lose them."

"I know," Daschka said. "Let me think."

For a minute he stared out at the stars outside the canopy. Then, abruptly, he stirred from his musings and reached for his control board. "Okay, decision made," he said, keying in a course change. "Our best chance of finding the Zhirrzh and Mrachanis doing the morris dance together is where our wounded wolves have gone to ground. So that's where we go."

There was another thunk, and the tunnel illusion, and they were once again meshed out. "Okay," Daschka said. "ETA at the rendezvous is about an hour twenty. You two get back down and do whatever you have to to get that Corvine buttoned up. Cho Ming, you'd better go help them."

"I have a question first," Aric said. "How did the Zhirrzh know when we had meshed out and therefore wouldn't be able to spot their course change?"

Daschka shrugged. "Seems pretty obvious. The Mrachanis have wake-trail detectors; the Zhirrzh have instantaneous communication. QED."

"In other words, you're saying that the Mrachanis over at that system have to have a Zhirrzh ship with them," Aric said.

"Or else the Zhirrzh have given them their communication technique," Cho Ming said. "What's your point?"

"Two points," Aric said. "One, that this is enough evidence to implicate the Mrachanis as collaborators without having to go take a look ourselves. We can head back right now and blow the whistle."

Daschka shook his head. "Inference hardly counts as proof."

"Even under martial law?"

"Even then."

Aric grimaced. "All right, then, point number two. If the Mrachanis and Zhirrzh are collaborating, then they're onto us. They've seen us here, and they'll see us coming toward them. And they'll be ready for us."

"But they won't know exactly where we're going to mesh in," Cho Ming pointed out. "Not accurately enough for an ambush."

"We don't know that," Aric said. "The Zhirrzh managed a pretty impressive pinpoint mesh-in when Quinn and I were out searching for Pheylan. We don't know everything they can do."

"We're NorCoord Intelligence, Cavanagh," Daschka reminded him. "It's our job to occasionally stick our heads in the lion's mouth."

"It's my job, too," Quinn added quietly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cavanagh, but I agree with them."

Aric sighed. If he somehow managed to live through all of this, he promised himself, he was never, ever going to leave his nice, safe CavTronics desk again. "It's not Cavanagh when we're flying, Maestro," he reminded Quinn morosely. "It's El Dorado, remember? Come on, let's go get that Corvine buttoned up."

"The Mrach transport craft have met with the five warships of the Trillsnake force at Rendezvous One," the Elder reported. "The connections have been successfully completed on two of them; the other three are not yet finished. The Mrachanis estimate two more tentharcs to completion."

Cvv-panav nodded, making another note on his reader. "What about the others?"

"The Compelling is nearly to its rendezvous point," another of the group of Elders circling around him said, moving forward. "The ship commander has no knowledge of whether the Mrachanis are there yet."

"They are," a third Elder confirmed. "The Dhaa'devastator is there already and is being tethered to its Mrach transport craft."

"Good," Cvv-panav said, making another note. Many cyclics ago he could remember cursing the ancestors for moving the Dhaa'rr homeland away from Oaccanv and the true center of Zhirrzh power. Now, finally, he understood the wisdom of that decision. Only on Dharanv, surrounded exclusively by Dhaa'rr Elders, could such a conversation as this be truly private.

One by one the Elders communicating with the other Dhaa'rr warships made their reports. "That leaves only the warships from the Phormbi attack," he said at last. "What about them?"

"All three have arrived safely at Rendezvous Five," an Elder told him. "Two groups of the transport craft have arrived; the third group is on its way."

"I see," Cvv-panav said, making a final note. That rendezvous point had been set up more or less at the last beat, so it made sense that the Mrachanis were running a little behind.

"But there's a potential complication," the Elder went on. "The Mrachanis have detected a Human-Conqueror spacecraft following the Phormbi warships."

Cvv-panav felt his midlight pupils narrow. "What sort of spacecraft?"

"They claim it is not a warship, but only a small cargo craft," the Elder said.

"Following our warships?" Cvv-panav snorted. "Not likely. Small or not, it's some kind of Human-Conqueror warship."

"The ship commanders agree," the Elder said. "The Mrachanis have stated that eight transport craft will be adequate to pull the Tireless, so the ship commanders have ordered the other two craft sent away in hopes of persuading the Human-Conqueror warrior that the rendezvous is merely a Mrach meeting point or mining center."

"A reasonable plan," Cvv-panav said. "Go see if it worked."

"I obey." The Elder vanished.

Cvv-panav glowered down at his reader. The Human-Conquerors were welcome to follow the rest of the Phormbi warships all the way back to Oaccanv if they felt like it. But he did not want them poking around his attack forces. Particularly not the warships at Rendezvous Five. He'd gone to considerable trouble to mask what he was doing with those ships from Supreme Commander Prm-jevev; he had no interest in having to dodge Human-Conquerors, too.

The Elder returned. "I'm sorry, Speaker Cvv-panav," he said. "The Mrachanis say the Human-Conqueror craft has altered course toward Rendezvous Five."

With an effort Cvv-panav refrained from cursing. Words weren't going to help now. "Do they say how long it will be until the craft arrives?"

"They estimate less than a tentharc," the Elder said. "Longer if the Human-Conqueror leaves the tunnel-line to use his detector."

That all-but-magic method of detecting spacecraft at the distances between stars. Some fullarc very soon he would have to pry that secret away from the Mrachanis. "Then the solution is obvious," Cvv-panav said. "The work must be completed and the warships moved before the Human-Conqueror arrives."

The Elder stared at him. "In less than a tentharc? But—"

"I don't want arguments," Cvv-panav cut him off. "Nor do I want excuses. We are the Dhaa'rr; and it will be done."

The Elder's tongue flicked. "Understood, Speaker Cvv-panav."

He vanished. "And if they fail?" another of the Elders asked quietly.

Cvv-panav focused on him. A very old Elder, this one, who'd been a warrior during the Third Eldership War five hundred cyclics ago. The war where the erosion of Dhaa'rr sovereignty had first begun, surrendered to the idealists of the embryonic Overclan Seating. "They won't fail," he told the Elder. "Because they know that with this victory over the Human-Conquerors the resurgence of the Dhaa'rr clan will begin."