Conquerors' Legacy

26

"The walls are getting cooler," Bronski commented. "Must be getting late."

Cavanagh opened his eyes and looked across to the opposite corner of the cell. Similarly stretched out on his cot, Bronski was watching Kolchin work on the door lock, his expression a study in frustration at their forced idleness. "I think you're right," he told the brigadier.

"It's about eleven-thirty," Kolchin said without looking up. Bronski glared at him from under bushy eyebrows. "How in hell can you know that?"

Kolchin shrugged. "It's a sort of time sense. I've always had it."

The brigadier grunted and fell silent. Cavanagh half closed his eyes, sympathizing with the other's irritation but wishing he would accept the inevitable and stop biting heads off at the slightest provocation. It had been Bronski himself, after all, who'd located the pair of elongated wand-lens monitor cameras the Mrachanis had stuck inside opposite corners of the ribbon-candle groove running around the room. The associated microphones had been easy enough to knock out—undoubtedly to the great annoyance of the Mrachanis monitoring them—but the lenses themselves had been made of sturdier stuff, and the simplest way to block their view of Kolchin's work was for Cavanagh and Bronski to move their cots into those corners and stretch out in front of the lenses.

Which they'd now been doing for a good two hours. They also serve, Cavanagh misquoted tiredly to himself, who only lie and doze. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he opened his eyes all the way—

And caught his breath. It was back. Moving slowly across the ceiling, visible mainly where it passed in front of darker sections of stone, the apparition was back.

"Bronski?" he murmured. "Ceiling."

The brigadier flashed him a look, his simmering annoyance vanishing. Shifting the arm propping up his head, he casually turned his head a few degrees upward.

The apparition didn't seem to notice the movement. Its full attention was apparently on Kolchin, watching as the bodyguard probed his strip of collar stiffener delicately inside the small crack he'd opened in the lock's cover plate.

"Interesting," Bronski murmured. "I take it back, Cavanagh. You're not crazy."

"Thank you," Cavanagh said. It was still drifting across the ceiling, still watching Kolchin. "Some Mrach trick, you think?"

"Not a chance," Bronski said. "Not inside a solid stone room. They couldn't even retrofit those spy-eyes and mikes worth a damn—they sure haven't hidden a holo projector in here. Besides, look at it. Looks just like a Zhirrzh."

The apparition jerked as if it had touched a hot wire, twisted impossibly, and vanished.

"Whoa—nice trick," Bronski said, looking around. "I guess it understands English, too."

Cavanagh frowned at him. "What do you mean? What understands English?"

"Our friend there," Bronski said, nodding toward the spot where the apparition had vanished. "You never got to read your son Pheylan's report on his captivity, but he claimed he saw something just like that when he was trying to escape. Of course, he was poisoned by his interrogator right afterward, so everyone's been putting it down to a fever hallucination—"

"Just a minute," Cavanagh interrupted, half sitting up before he remembered his camera-blocking duties. "You never said anything about him being poisoned."

"I didn't want to worry you," Bronski said. "Anyway, it wasn't all that important. The interrogator used his tongue poison to knock Pheylan out during the escape attempt."

"And you didn't consider that important?" Cavanagh demanded. "It could have killed him."

"Yes, I imagine that's what the Zhirrzh had in mind," Bronski said patiently. "But the Copperheads got there first and were able to neutralize the stuff. He was completely recovered before they even got to Edo."

"You're sure of that?"

"The doctors double-checked just to make sure," Bronski assured him. "The point is that he reported having seen one of those ghost things. Come to think of it, your other son, Aric, reported hearing voices screaming near a pyramid thing they found on an otherwise deserted planet."

"Did he see anything?" Kolchin asked.

"No, he just heard voices," Bronski said thoughtfully. "But right about that same time two Zhirrzh warships apparently changed course from several light-years away and came roaring to the rescue."

Cavanagh's mind was still back on Pheylan's poisoning. "So what does it mean?"

"I don't know," Bronski said, still sounding thoughtful. "We don't know if the voices and the ghosts are even connected. But if they are, maybe we've stumbled on a clue to the Zhirrzh long-range communication system." He shrugged. "Or maybe it's nothing at all. Maybe the Zhirrzh just like ghost stories so much they made them real."

"That's certainly a pleasant thought," Cavanagh said, looking around. The phantom was still gone.

Or rather, it still wasn't visible. But, then, it hadn't been all that visible before; and according to Bronski, Aric had heard voices without seeing anything. Could the ghost still be there listening?

He looked around again, his skin on the back of his neck tingling uncomfortably. The thought of a culture with real ghosts was a distinctly unsettling one.

Yet if Bronski's guess was right, they might be sitting on the secret of the Zhirrzh interstellar communication here. If they could somehow draw it out... "Hello?" he called softly. "Can you hear me? My name is Lord Stewart Cavanagh. I'd like to talk to you."

"You're wasting your time," Bronski said. "They're the Conquerors, remember? Mass killers. They're not interested in talking to their victims, just killing them. Like that interrogator who tried to kill your son Pheylan Cavanagh."

Cavanagh frowned at him. Bronski wasn't simply lashing out in frustration—there was a distinctly calculating expression on his face as he looked around. Was he trying to goad the ghost into reappearing?

And then, not half a meter away, it did.

Cavanagh jerked back, bumping the back of his head against the stone wall. His lips moved, forming words, but the breath needed to make actual sounds was frozen in his lungs as all the dark fears of humanity's past flooded in on him. The spectral, alien face stared at him for what seemed forever—

"You father of Pheylan Cavanagh?"

Cavanagh blinked. The words had been English. Mangled, distorted, but still English.

"Go on," Bronski prompted softly. "Answer him."

Cavanagh flicked a glance over—no, through—the face in front of him. Bronski was still lying on his cot, but his face and body were tight and alert. To Cavanagh's left Kolchin had paused in his work, his eyes set in the icy expression of a bodyguard facing an unknown but potentially dangerous situation.

He focused again on the transparent face. "Yes," he said, the words finally making it out. "I'm Lord Stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

"What's your name?" Bronski put in.

The ghost ignored him. "Thrr-gilag not try kill Pheylan Cavanagh," he said. "Try only stop him leave."

Cavanagh looked at Bronski. "Thrr-gilag was the chief Zhirrzh interrogator," the brigadier said. "He's the one who poisoned Pheylan."

"Not try kill him," the ghost insisted.

"All right," Cavanagh said soothingly. "If you say so."

"You tell me now," the ghost said. "Why Pheylan Cavanagh not raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership?"

Cavanagh looked at Bronski. "Eldership?"

"The Elders are a segment of Zhirrzh society," Bronski told him. "Leaders or something, maybe—Pheylan had the impression they were important. That's all we know."

Had Pheylan's escape ruined this Thrr-gilag's chances for promotion? "Pheylan did what he had to do," he said carefully to the ghost. "Surely if Thrr-gilag had been a prisoner, he would also have tried to escape."

"No," the ghost said, an insubstantial tongue darting out as if for emphasis. "I not speak of escape. I speak of raise to Eldership. Why Pheylan Cavanagh not do that?"

"I don't understand," Cavanagh said. "What did Pheylan do?"

"Not what he do," the ghost said. "What he not do. He not do this." The transparent hands lifted up, closed around his own transparent neck. "Not do this."

Cavanagh shook his head helplessly. Charades had never been his strong point, even within his own family. Trying to figure out the gestures and body language of a totally alien being was going to be well-nigh impossible.

"He's miming strangulation," Kolchin said suddenly. "Or else neck breaking."

"You're right," Bronski agreed. "And Pheylan mentioned that—said he had the interrogator in a neck lock when he hauled him into the Mrach ship. He's asking why Pheylan didn't kill him."

"That can't be," Cavanagh argued. "He just said that—"

And abruptly it hit like a faceful of ice water. Eldership—death—the ghost hovering in front of him—

He took a careful breath. "You're an Elder," he said.

The ghost's head twitched in a not-quite nod. "Yes."

A dense silence seemed to settle into the room. Cavanagh stared at the face before him. "They've conquered death," he heard his voice say. "They've really, truly conquered death."

"Why Pheylan Cavanagh not raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership?"

Cavanagh swallowed hard, trying to gather his wits together. He was asking why Pheylan hadn't killed the interrogator. "I don't know for sure," he said. "Probably because there was no need to. Humans don't kill unless it's absolutely necessary."

"You raise other Zhirrzh to Eldership."

"This war wasn't our idea," Bronski put in. "It was the Zhirrzh who attacked first."

"Not true," the ghost insisted. "Elders say Human-Conquerors attack first."

"Then the Elders are wrong," Bronski said. "We didn't attack first. I know."

The ghost spat something and vanished. Cavanagh waited, but he didn't come back. "Nice job," he said to the brigadier.

"He'll be back," Bronski said, looking around. "We've just shaken his belief in government truthfulness, and he's gone away to think it over. But he'll be back."

Cavanagh eyed him suspiciously. "You seem awfully sure of yourself. What do you know that we don't?"

"I don't actually know anything," Bronski said. He rubbed a sleeve across his forehead, wiping away sweat that had collected despite the coolness of the cell. "I'm following up on the impressions Pheylan had of his captors. He was pretty sure he'd gotten Thrr-gilag thinking about what the Zhirrzh leaders had told them about the Jutland attack. He thought there was a good chance he would look into the matter, maybe spread some of his doubts around to the other Zhirrzh." He gestured toward the ceiling. "This Elder seems to know him. I thought it would be worth trying to give him a little push."

"Perhaps," Cavanagh said. "Not that he has any reason to believe three Human-Conquerors."

From the door came a soft click. "Got it," Kolchin said, withdrawing his probe from the lock mechanism. Getting to his feet, he got a set of fingernails between the door and jamb and eased it open a crack—

And was abruptly thrown backward, spinning around toward Cavanagh as the door was slammed violently open. Reflexively, Cavanagh threw up his arms, catching Kolchin as he fell with a crash into him and the cot.

And a Bhurt charged into the cell.

Bronski was off his own cot and into a combat stance even before Kolchin had come to a complete stop. Another two seconds and Kolchin was back on balance as well, poised to receive the attack.

But the attack didn't come. The big alien skidded to a stop a meter inside the cell, and for a long moment stood there glowering at each of the humans in turn. "I am ordered not to hurt you," he rumbled at last, backing into the doorway. "Not yet."

He got a grip on the handle and pulled the door closed behind him. It sealed with a solid-sounding thunk.

"You all right?" Cavanagh asked as Kolchin slowly rose out of his combat stance.

"Just feeling stupid," Kolchin said, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "I would have sworn there weren't any guards out there."

"Bhurtala can be amazingly quiet when they want to be," Bronski said. "Don't let it worry you."

"Yeah," Kolchin said. "Right."

Cavanagh patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Zhirrzh Elder?" he called. "Are you still here?"

There was no answer. "Still chewing it over, I guess," Bronski said, resettling himself on his cot. "Until he decides to come back, we might as well get some rest. At least now we know how to open the door. That's something."

"For all the good that does us with a Bhurt outside," Cavanagh pointed out.

Bronski smiled grimly. "Don't worry. We'll think of something."

With an audible exhaling of breath, Melinda Cavanagh straightened and pushed back a few strands of cranial hair that had dropped down across her face. "Finished," she said.

"That's all it takes?" Thrr-gilag asked, frowning at the skintight immobilization cast she had put on Pheylan Cavanagh's left leg. It looked far more fragile than even the light-ceramic casts the Zhirrzh used for broken bones.

"That's it," she assured him, trying to work a finger under one of the magnet rings on her new obedience suit to rub her side. Mnov-korthe had insisted on the obedience suit; pointedly, he'd given the triggers to two of his warriors, not to Thrr-gilag or Klnn-dawan-a. "The membrane cast immobilizes the leg and also stimulates bone repair."

Amazing technology, indeed. "He'll be all right, then?"

"He should be fine," she said.

"I'm glad," Thrr-gilag said, looking down into that sleeping alien face. He was glad, he realized suddenly, and not just because it meant he wouldn't lose a potential research subject. Perhaps now he would finally be able to learn why Pheylan Cavanagh hadn't raised him to Eldership when he'd had the chance back on Study World 12.

To his left the door opened, and he turned to see Second Commander Klnn-vavgi step into the room, flanked by two warriors. "Thrr-gilag," he nodded in greeting.

"Commander Klnn-vavgi," Thrr-gilag said stiffly. "I suppose congratulations are in order on your promotion."

"Thank you," Klnn-vavgi said coolly. "I'm sorry you don't approve. Fortunately, your approval isn't necessary. How's the prisoner?"

"I thought you were Thrr-mezaz's friend," Thrr-gilag bit out. "Thrr-mezaz thought so, too. I guess we were both wrong."

Klnn-vavgi didn't even wince. "This has nothing to do with friendship, Searcher Thrr-gilag," he said. "This has to do with my duty as a warrior. Mnov-korthe has clear authorization from the Overclan Seating. It's my duty to help him carry it out."

"To carry what out?" Thrr-gilag demanded. "He won't even tell me what he's looking for."

"He won't tell me, either," Klnn-vavgi said, crossing the room to gaze briefly into Pheylan Cavanagh's sleeping face. "Only some of the Elders. Though he seems to believe you and Commander Thrr-mezaz already know. How's the prisoner doing?"

Thrr-gilag flicked his tongue. "I'm told he'll recover."

"Excellent," Klnn-vavgi said. "I presume you and Klnn-dawan-a will want to begin your studies on him immediately."

"We'll begin as soon as he's well enough," Thrr-gilag growled. "He has had a serious injury, you know."

"So much the better—you can get baseline data for a Human-Conqueror under injury stress. That could be very useful, couldn't it?"

Thrr-gilag glanced at Melinda Cavanagh and Sergeant Janovetz, who of course had no idea what the conversation was about. "Yes. Perhaps."

"Then it's settled," Klnn-vavgi said, also looking at the other two Humans. "You'd best start collecting your equipment together. I've set up a private examination room for you across the landing field. Klnn-dawan-a's already there getting the preparations started. Srgent-janovetz will have to stay here, but I presume you'll be wanting the Human-Conqueror healer to come help you."

Thrr-gilag frowned. That had been a decidedly odd comment. "I suppose we could use her."

"I'm sure you can," Klnn-vavgi said, wandering over to the table where Melinda Cavanagh had laid out her tools and medicines. "Especially with her specialized healer equipment."

Thrr-gilag felt his tongue pressing painfully at the inside of his mouth. Not half a stride away from Klnn-vavgi was the metal box where Prr't-zevisti's fsss cutting was hidden.... "You're right, of course," he said.

"Good," Klnn-vavgi said, stepping around behind the table and turning to face Thrr-gilag again. "It should be a lot calmer over there, actually. Mnov-korthe and his brother are going to be turning this encampment inside out until they find what they're looking for." He paused, resting one hand on top of the metal box, and locked eyes with Thrr-gilag. "I gather that it has something to do with that missing Elder, Prr't-zevisti."

"Ah," Thrr-gilag murmured.

"They've already spoken at length to Commander Thrr-mezaz," Klnn-vavgi continued, casually rubbing the smooth metal surface with his fingertips. "And I know they're eager to talk to you, too. But I've convinced them that your Human-Conqueror studies must take priority. I hope you and Klnn-dawan-a can obtain some useful results."

"We'll try," Thrr-gilag said, his earlier resentment melting away. Despite their efforts to keep Klnn-vavgi out of this mess, the second commander had clearly figured out enough of it on his own. But instead of turning them in to the Dhaa'rr agents, he had connived to buy them some time.

And in the process had put his own neck on the line along with theirs. "We'll try our best."

"Good," Klnn-vavgi said, his eyes flicking upward to the Elders hovering nearly invisibly overhead. "I'll detail some warriors to carry the prisoner and escort you to the examination room. Good luck."

He left the room. "Is there trouble?" Melinda Cavanagh asked.

"No," Thrr-gilag told her, conscious of the fact that all the Elders up there knew some of the Human language. "We need to move Pheylan Cavanagh to another place for study. A more private place, I'm told. You'll be coming with me."

"And Sergeant Janovetz?"

"He'll stay here."

"I see," Melinda Cavanagh said. "How private will this place be?"

"Reasonably," Thrr-gilag said, hoping she would read between the lines. "There will be warriors outside, of course."

"Yes," she said, stepping over to the table and selecting two of the tubes of medicine. Crossing to Sergeant Janovetz, she handed him the tubes. "Before I forget again, Sergeant, I brought you some of your special rash ointment."

"Thanks, Doc," he said, glancing at them briefly and dropping them casually beside him on his cot. "Use as needed, right?"

Melinda glanced at her watch. "You should probably wait a couple of hours," she said. "And just use a small amount. I know that kind of rash can get distracting, but the prescribed treatment doesn't involve extermination."

The tufts of hair over his eyes lifted a little higher. "None?"

"None," Melinda Cavanagh said firmly. "There are new indications that the rash might actually be benign."

"Benign?" Sergeant Janovetz said, his voice sounding odd. "You're joking."

"Not at all," she assured him.

His shoulders went up and down again. "Well, you're the doctor. Prescription understood."

She nodded and turned to Thrr-gilag. "All right," she said, picking up the box with Prr't-zevisti's cutting in it. "Let's go."

"There," Commander Oclan-barjak said, gesturing out the transport's canopy. "Straight ahead, on top of that hill."

A beat later the dark figure made his location obvious, flashing a light briefly toward the incoming transports. "Is he alone?" the Prime asked.

"Appears to be," Oclan-barjak grunted. "We'll find out soon enough. All right, pilot—signal the others, then put us down."

They were on the ground four hunbeats later. Two hunbeats after that the warriors had been deployed and the shadowy figure brought into the subdued semicircle of light spilling out from the transport's open hatchway. Just inside the semicircle one of the warriors handed him a kavra fruit, waiting until he'd sliced it before escorting him the rest of the way. As he approached the light, the Prime could now see that there was an Elder accompanying him.

"I'm the Overclan Prime," the Prime identified himself. "You're Protector Thrr-tulkoj?"

"Yes," the Zhirrzh said, gesturing to the Elder hovering beside him. "This is Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. He's the one who brought me the message from Searcher Nzz-oonaz on Mra."

"Thrr't-rokik," the Prime nodded greeting. It was, he suspected, going to be very interesting to hear how this pathway had come to be. But first things first. "Has Nzz-oonaz been informed I'm here?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "He said to give you the recognition code 'Pllaa'rr beside the Softly Raging Sea.' "

Another of their private recognition codes. "Very well. Message: this is the Overclan Prime. What is this matter you wish to discuss?"

Thrr't-rokik vanished. The Prime waited, glancing around the hilltops and the warriors in ready position. If it was a trap, the attackers were taking their time about springing it. Or else had been frightened away by the size of the Overclan warrior contingent.

Thrr't-rokik returned. " 'I have had disturbing news, Overclan Prime, which I felt could not be safely trusted to my usual pathways. Were you aware that normal communications with the Zhirrzh ground forces on Dorcas have been suspended?' "

The Prime felt his lowlight pupils contract. "No," he said. "For what reason?"

" 'I've been unable to find out,' " the answer came. " 'But I've heard rumors that indicate the Dhaa'rr clan may be behind it.' "

The Prime grimaced. Yes, he could smell Speaker Cvv-panav's saliva all over this one. Whatever was happening on Dorcas was clearly the most recent thrust in his campaign to catch Thrr-gilag with his illegal cutting and then to link it back to the Prime.

Only this time the Speaker had gone directly to the source. If Thrr-gilag hadn't managed to get rid of the cutting, they were indeed going to be in trouble. "You said normal communications had been cut off," he said to Thrr't-rokik. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

"An Elder aboard the Closed Mouth tried to open a pathway," Thrr't-rokik said. "He came back and said—"

"He meant for you to take the question to Nzz-oonaz," Oclan-barjak cut him off gruffly. "Not answer it yourself."

"I'm sorry," Thrr't-rokik said, with no apology in face or voice that the Prime could detect. "I was there when it happened. I thought answering it myself would save time."

"I'm sure it would," the Prime said. "But the form must be followed. Take the question to Nzz-oonaz."

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

"Insolent illegit," Oclan-barjak muttered. "Overclan Prime, I have a listing of Overclan-certified Elders in the area. If you'd like, I'll summon one to open a pathway back to Unity City. Then you can dispense with this amateur."

The Prime flicked his tongue in a negative. "Let's see what Nzz-oonaz has to say first."

Thrr't-rokik returned. " 'One of my Elders tried to open a pathway to Thrr-gilag on Dorcas,' " he said. " 'He returned with the information that the only pathways that were being allowed were through Dhaa'rr Elders.' "

"On whose orders?" the Prime asked.

Thrr't-rokik vanished; returned. " 'He had the impression it was the Speaker for Dhaa'rr.' "

Oclan-barjak rumbled something under his breath. "In case any of us hadn't already guessed."

"Still, more overt than his usual style," the Prime said. "He must be very sure of himself. All right, Searcher, I'll deal with it. Was there anything else?"

" 'Yes,' " the answer came a few beats later. " 'Thrr't-rokik has discovered the Mrachanis have taken three Human-Conqueror prisoners and are holding them in the fortress four thoustrides from us. He has also overheard speculation that the Mrachanis may be planning to attack us and blame the Human-Conquerors.' "

The Prime frowned. "Is this true, Thrr't-rokik?"

"To the best of my understanding, Overclan Prime, yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "My knowledge of the Human-Conqueror language is admittedly limited, but I believe I understood their speech correctly."

"Whose speech, the prisoners?"

Thrr't-rokik nodded. "Yes."

"Probably lying," Oclan-barjak grunted. "You can't trust something the enemy says."

"But why would they lie?" Thrr't-rokik asked reasonably. "They didn't know I was there listening. Why would they lie in private conversation with each other?"

"An interesting question," the Prime agreed. "Ask Searcher Nzz-oonaz if he believes them."

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

He was back half a hunbeat later. " 'I don't know, Overclan Prime,' " he quoted. " 'I don't trust the Human-Conquerors, of course. But I don't trust the Mrachanis anymore, either. I had a conversation with Thrr-gilag before the pathways were closed down about the Mrach ambassadors who died on Oaccanv.' "

"Yes, I read your report on that," the Prime nodded. Along with Commander Thrr-mezaz's report about the explosives attack on Dorcas, too. "All right, here's what I want you to do. On some pretext, without causing alarm, I want you to quietly bring your contact group back into the Closed Mouth. That goes for your support technics, too. The only ones who are to be outside the ship are the warriors on guard duty, and they're to stay close. You have all that, Thrr't-rokik?"

"Yes, Overclan Prime." Thrr't-rokik vanished.

"If it comes to a real fight, the Closed Mouth is going to be in trouble," Oclan-barjak said quietly. "Most of the ship's weaponry was removed before they left Oaccanv."

"Yes, I know," the Prime said grimly, running through in his mind the Elders' description of the hangar area where the Closed Mouth had been hidden. Scooped out of the base of a solid stone hill, it wasn't going to be an easy place to make a quick exit from.

Especially since he seemed to remember that the Mrachanis had positioned the ship in such a way that its lasers couldn't be brought to bear on the hangar door. Odd that no one had noticed that before now.

Thrr't-rokik returned. " 'Understood, Overclan Prime. I'll alert the others immediately. Will you be returning to Unity City now?' "

The Prime glanced around the dark hills, curves of darkness against the blazing stars overhead. There was certainly no reason for him to stay here once this pathway was closed. A potential Mrach attack had nothing political about it, which meant Nzz-oonaz's usual pathways should be adequate for the situation. Besides which, the pathways he had available back at the Overclan Complex would be better for getting to the bottom of whatever was happening on Dorcas.

And yet, there was something about this situation....

He flicked his tongue impatiently. Vague feelings were not something to base policy decisions on. Certainly not vague feelings generated by the shifting winds and shadows on top of a hill at latearc. "Yes," he said. "Let me know via the usual pathways when everyone's aboard the Closed Mouth."

" 'I obey, Overclan Prime,' " the reply came a few beats later.

"Good luck." The Prime nodded. "All right, Thrr't-rokik. Go ahead and close the pathway."

"I obey." Thrr't-rokik hesitated. "Overclan Prime, what about the three Human-Conquerors?"

"What about them?"

"What if the Mrachanis decide to kill them before launching their attack on the Closed Mouth?"

"Again, what about it?"

"Well, shouldn't we do something to stop it?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"They're our enemies, Thrr't-rokik," Oclan-barjak reminded him. "The more of them that die, the better it is for us."

"I'm not talking about death in warfare, Commander," Thrr't-rokik said stubbornly. "This would be flat-out murder."

"Of alien creatures who started a war—"

The Prime cut him off with a gesture. "I understand your concern, Thrr't-rokik," he said. "As a matter of fact, I do indeed sympathize. But I don't see what we can do to help. Not without some of Nzz-oonaz's warriors risking premature Eldership."

Thrr't-rokik's tongue flicked out. "What if they didn't start the war?" he asked. "Would that make a difference?"

The Prime frowned. "We've been through all this before, Thrr't-rokik. Who have you been talking to?"

An unreadable expression flicked across the translucent face. "My son, Thrr-gilag, has always wondered about that," he said. "He said Pheylan Cavanagh seemed so sure."

"The issue has been laid to rest," the Prime said, putting some ice in his voice. "The Human-Conquerors attacked first; and unless you want to challenge the honesty of the Elders who were at that first battle, I don't want to hear anything more about it. Understood?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik muttered.

"Good," the Prime said. "Then I thank you for your assistance. Go back to Nzz-oonaz and have him keep me informed of his situation."

"I obey."

The Elder vanished. "Thank you for your assistance, too, Protector," the Prime said, looking at Thrr-tulkoj. "I trust you understand that what has transpired here is to be kept totally confidential."

"Of course," Thrr-tulkoj said. "If you'd like, I can keep myself available in case you need to talk to Searcher Nzz-oonaz through Thrr't-rokik again."

The Prime eyed him, the other's name belatedly clicking. Thrr-tulkoj: the Kee'rr protector who'd been on duty the latearc when Speaker Cvv-panav's agents stole Thrr-pifix-a's fsss organ from the Thrr-family shrine. He probably had a good deal of time on his hands right now. "Yes, that's probably a good idea," he said. "Go back to where you were in Cliffside Dales. If I need you or Thrr't-rokik, I'll contact you there."

"I obey," Thrr-tulkoj said. With a nod he passed through the ring of warriors and headed down the hill toward his transport.

Oclan-barjak threw the Prime a lopsided smile. "You're just an old soft-tongue, Overclan Prime," he said quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

"Everyone needs to feel needed, Commander," the Prime said tiredly. "Come on, let's go home."

Two other Elders were just flicking away as Thrr't-rokik returned to the Closed Mouth. "There you are," Nzz-oonaz said. "Did the Overclan Prime have anything else?"

"Just that you were to keep him informed," Thrr't-rokik said.

Another Elder appeared. "Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv have been alerted," he reported.

"You warned them not to move too quickly?"

"Yes," the Elder confirmed. "Don't worry, I gave them some tips on how to do quiet evacuations—I handled such maneuvers myself a few times during the Etsiji occupation. The Mrachanis will never notice anything amiss."

Nzz-oonaz grunted. "I hope not. Take some other Elders and go monitor the Mrachanis' movements. Thrr't-rokik, you go back and keep an eye on the Human-Conquerors."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said. He moved along his anchorline, and a beat later he was back in the Human-Conquerors' cell.

Nothing had changed since his last time there except that all three Human-Conquerors were stretched out on their cots now. Their eyes were closed; apparently, they were asleep.

He drifted briefly outside the room. Standing across the hallway from the door, positioned where he could see anyone attempting to leave, was an amazingly wide-bodied alien of a sort Thrr't-rokik had never seen or heard of. Obviously, a guard.

He drifted back into the cell, disturbing uncertainties tugging at him. The Overclan Prime had been so certain that the Human-Conquerors had started this war. But the Human-Conqueror on the cot over there had been equally certain that they hadn't. As had Pheylan Cavanagh, according to his son Thrr-gilag.

Someone was lying, or else someone was wrong. But who?

"Hello."

Thrr't-rokik started at the soft voice, dropping reflexively toward the grayworld. One of the Human-Conquerors, the one called Cavanagh, had awakened, his eyes searching the area Thrr't-rokik had just vanished from. "I won't hurt you," the alien added, his voice even softer here in the grayworld. "I just want to talk."

Thrr't-rokik hesitated. But why not? "About what?" he asked, mouthing the alien words with difficulty as he rose again to the edge of the lightworld.

"There you are," the Human-Conqueror said. "My name is Lord-stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

"I know," Thrr't-rokik said. "You said that already."

"Yes," the Human-Conqueror said. "Do you have a name?"

Again, why not? "I am Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. Thrr-gilag is my son."

The alien's eyes seemed to grow larger for a beat. "Thrr-gilag's father. I'm honored to meet you."

"Why did you come to this place?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"We don't trust the Mrachanis," the Human-Conqueror said. "We came here to find out what they were doing."

"Why don't you trust them?"

"Because we now know they have lied to us many times," the alien said. "May I ask a question?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously.

"What are you?" the Human-Conqueror asked. "What I mean is, what are the Elders? Are you the (something) of the dead?"

Thrr't-rokik eyed him, thinking furiously. What should he say? Everything about the Elders, even their very existence, was supposed to be kept a black secret—he'd lost track of how many times the language instructors and warrior commanders on the Willing Servant had pounded that into them.

But on the other side, he'd already slipped up by giving away his existence to Lord-stewart Cavanagh and his companions. And besides, these particular three would soon be dead. "We are Zhirrzh whose physical forms have failed," he said, hoping he was getting enough of the words right. For some reason, understanding the Human-Conqueror language was considerably easier than speaking it. "We're anchored to our fsss organs, which are stored at the family shrines on Oaccanv."

"So you are dead," the Human-Conqueror said, his voice sounding strange. "And yet you aren't. (Something.) How long can you live this way?"

"Many cyclics," Thrr't-rokik said. "A fsss organ wears out only slowly."

For a few beats the Human-Conqueror was silent. Thrr't-rokik moved closer, noticed a liquid trickling from the corners of his eyes. "What is wrong?" he demanded.

The alien moved his head back and forth to the side. "I was just thinking of my wife, Sara. Pheylan's mother. She died five (something) ago. I would give anything to be able to see and talk with her again. Even just this way, as an Elder."

Thrr't-rokik gazed at him, emotions he'd striven to suppress stirring within him. Lord-stewart Cavanagh had lost his wife to death... just as Thrr't-rokik might yet lose his own wife. "My wife is named Thrr-pifix-a," he said. "She does not wish to become an Elder."

Lord-stewart Cavanagh rubbed the liquid away with his hands. "Why not?"

"She fears the loss of her physical form," Thrr't-rokik said. "She calls Eldership not a real life."

The Human-Conqueror looked at his hands. "Yes, I can understand that," he said. "Actually, I think Sara would have felt the same way. But I know that if I could have her back, I would be selfish enough to do so."

Selfish. Thrr't-rokik gazed at the Human-Conqueror, an unpleasant feeling gnawing at his tongue. He hadn't really thought about it that way before. Or else hadn't wanted to think that way. Was he being selfish to want to hold on to Thrr-pifix-a?

Lord-stewart Cavanagh inhaled noisily, wiping at his eyes again. "Do you speak with your own father and mother often?" he asked.

"There is little for an Elder to do except speak," Thrr't-rokik said. "To speak, and to watch the world near us. We can only go small distances from our fsss organs."

"Yet you're here," Lord-stewart Cavanagh pointed out. "How is that possible?"

More forbidden territory, no doubt. Again, it probably didn't matter. "A small piece can be taken from the fsss organ," Thrr't-rokik told him. "An Elder can then move between the two parts."

"I see," the other said. "That's how you're able to send messages over great distances."

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "I would ask that you not speak of these things. It is not permitted to tell anyone."

The muscles in Lord-stewart Cavanagh's neck moved. "Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll probably be dead soon. As may some of your people. You'd better warn them that the Mrachanis may soon attack them."

"They are warned," Thrr't-rokik said, rather surprised that the Human-Conqueror would even bother to say anything about that. Thrr-gilag's doubts about the presumed levels of Human-Conqueror aggression came floating back through his mind— "They are preparing for attack."

"Good." For a few beats Lord-stewart Cavanagh was silent. "I appreciate your telling me this," he said at last. "Actually, though, I have to agree with your leaders who want to keep it hidden. There are many Humans who would resent your ability to live on after physical death, even as Elders. We probably would eventually have been at war no matter what."

He propped his head up on one arm. "May I ask another question?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said.

"Tell me about your world. Not anything that your leaders wouldn't want me to know; just what your world is like. Its plants and animals, its hills and streams. Tell me what you liked to do when you were alive."

When you were alive. Thrr't-rokik listened to the words echoing through his mind, an odd sadness seeping into him. Because he was still alive... and yet, at the same time, he wasn't.

The Human-Conqueror was right. Thrr-pifix-a was right. Could it have been the rest of the Zhirrzh who'd been wrong all these cyclics?

"My world is very beautiful," he told Lord-stewart Cavanagh, the alien words coming out with difficulty. "The home where I grew up was in a wide valley...."

"Stand by," Daschka's voice came tautly in Aric's ear. "Almost there."

"Acknowledged," Quinn said from the Corvine's pilot seat in front of Aric. "We're ready."

Aric took a careful breath, held it a few seconds, then slowly let it out. This was it. If Cho Ming's estimate was right, they were about to mesh in at the spot where those three Conqueror warships had disappeared.

Unfortunately, that was all they had here: an estimate. They might arrive a hundred thousand kilometers away, or they might land right on top of them.

"Here we go," Daschka said. "Meshing in... now."

The relays cracked; and in front of the Corvine the forward cargo hatch dropped open to the stars. Without missing a beat Quinn fired the fighter's thrusters, and five seconds later they were outside. "In position," he called. "Situation?"

"No contact yet," Cho Ming's voice said. "Stand by."

An invisible weight leaned onto Aric's chest and right side, the stars outside the canopy spinning dizzily as Quinn threw the Corvine into an accelerating spiral around the Happenstance. "You see anything, Maestro?" Aric asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

"Some comets," Quinn replied. "Nothing that looks or reads like a Zhirrzh warship."

"Or even a Mrach heavy-hauler," Cho Ming's voice said. "Looks like they've flown the coop."

"Interesting," Quinn said as the Corvine eased out of its spiral into a more leisurely circle. "Where could they have gone?"

"To ground, obviously," Daschka said. "Also obvious how they did it. The Mrachanis picked up our wake-trail, figured out when we were going to mesh in here, and made sure they were already meshed in at that time."

"Hence, no wake-trail." Aric nodded understanding. "Question is, How do we find them again?"

"I don't know," Daschka growled. "Actually, I don't think we can."

"Why not?" Aric asked. "All we need to do is stay here until they get tired of waiting and mesh out again."

"If they get tired of waiting," Cho Ming pointed out. "They might not."

"Actually, it's worse than that," Quinn said. "All they really need to do is drop a static bomb to cover their wake and mesh out."

"Exactly," Daschka agreed. "So let's go ahead and beat them to the punch. You two get back here; Cho Ming, get our static bomb ready to drop."

"What's this supposed to accomplish?" Aric asked as Quinn turned the Corvine back toward the Happenstance.

"For starters, it may make them sweat a little," Daschka said. "Maybe make them wonder if they got away quite as cleanly as they thought, or if we're instead bearing down on them with a couple of Nova-class carriers coming in from the other side. Meanwhile, it'll give us cover while we head back to the Trafalgar and raise the alarm."

"We're going back to Phormbi, then?" Aric asked.

"Unless you have somewhere else you'd rather be."

Aric gazed out at the stars. "Actually, as long as we're this close already, I was thinking we might want to go to Mra."

There was a brief silence. "Any particular reason why?"

"That message you got at Phormbi said my father and Bronski were headed there," Aric reminded him. "Now that we know that the Mrachanis and Zhirrzh are working together, I'm thinking they might be in trouble."

"Bronski can generally take care of himself," Daschka said. But his tone was thoughtful. "Besides, alerting Montgomery about these missing Zhirrzh warships ought to be our priority here."

"On the other hand, Montgomery's going to be out of action for a while," Cho Ming put in. "Mra gets diplomatic skitters, too—we can send a report just as easily from there as we could from Phormbi."

"Point," Daschka admitted. "I wish we'd followed the other Zhirrzh warships... but that's over and done with. All right, what the hell, let's go to Mra."

"I just hope we'll be able to find them," Aric commented as Quinn sent the Corvine curving back. "A planet's a pretty big place to lose a couple of people in."