Conquerors' Legacy

29

"I do not know more," Thrr't-rokik said, his thin voice as agitated as Cavanagh felt. "Prr't-zevisti says that human aircraft coming toward Zhirrzh encampment. I must go hear what is happening."

"Wait a minute," Cavanagh called. "What about Pheylan and Melinda? You said something had gone wrong—?"

"Don't bother—he's gone," Bronski said grimly. He was up off his cot now, pulling his shirt off and stuffing it into the wall slot where one of the Mrachanis' hidden cameras was located. "Do what I'm doing over the camera on your side. Kolchin, I need two bolas and a slingshot."

"Right," Kolchin said, pulling out the impromptu screwdriver he'd used earlier on the door. Pushing his mattress onto the floor, he set the metal cot frame up on its side and got to work on the hardware holding it together.

"What's going on?" Cavanagh asked, taking his shirt off and wedging it into the slot as instructed.

"We're getting out of here," Bronski told him. He had his own mattress on the floor and was balancing the wire-strung frame on its side against the wall opposite the door.

"What about the Mrachanis?" Cavanagh asked.

"They're the reason we're getting out," Bronski said. Leaving the frame propped against the wall, he squatted down beside the discarded mattress and began tearing carefully through the fabric of the outer enclosure. "You remember Thrr't-rokik quoting the Overclan Prime earlier as saying he was glad they hadn't agreed to an attack on Earth?"

"Yes," Cavanagh said.

"Well, he was wrong," Bronski told him. "Because when Valloittaja was marching us in here, he pretty well confirmed they had conned the Zhirrzh into launching a major attack."

"Maybe he was just playing games with you," Cavanagh said, watching the two of them in fascination. Kolchin was making a small collection of nuts and bolts pulled from the cot frame; Bronski had gotten a tear started in the mattress fabric and was carefully making it longer. "Or else planting disinformation."

"I don't think so," Bronski said. "I know the Mrachanis. From the level of gloating I think he was telling the truth."

"So you're saying the Overclan Prime lied to us?"

"No," Bronski said bluntly. "I'm saying that one of his political opponents is pulling a fast one. He's made a private deal with the Mrachanis."

Cavanagh swore gently. Obvious, of course, now that they knew how the Mrachanis worked. "Why didn't you warn Pheylan?"

"I was trying to find a way to say it that wouldn't tip off the Zhirrzh that I knew." The slit was long enough now for Bronski to begin pulling one of the tube-shaped floater pads out of the mattress. "Someone from the wrong political side might have been listening in. This communication system might be handy, but it has security holes you could fly a carrier through."

"I think the time for subtlety has passed," Cavanagh said. "You'd better warn the Overclan Prime. There must be a way for him to stop the attack."

"Not if this enemy of his is smart," Bronski said. He had all the floater pads from his mattress laid out on the floor now, lined up neatly from where he'd propped up the frame to a point about halfway to the door. "I'm sure you've played enough steamroller politics in your day to know how it's done. Anyway, from the sound of things the whole question's academic. If the Dorcas Peacekeepers have launched an attack, it's going to be a while before Thrr't-rokik comes back to talk to us. Even assuming the Overclan Prime lets him do it."

"They want peace, Bronski," Cavanagh said. "At least the Overclan Prime does."

"You just hold that thought. Kolchin?"

"Slingshot's finished," Kolchin said. He held up one of the leg frames of the cot, now sporting an elastic band from his tunic waist strung between two of the right-angle sections.

"What about the bolas?"

"One's done," Kolchin said, indicating a lumpy assortment of bolts and nuts connected by long cords pulled from somewhere else in his clothing. "I'll be another minute on the other one."

"Good." Bronski stepped back to the cot frame and began working at the loose wire mesh that normally supported the mattress. A minute later he had one end loose; leaving the other end fastened to the frame, he began unweaving it from the other wires.

"All right, I give up," Cavanagh said. "What in the world are you two doing?"

"You saw how that Bhurt came charging in here earlier," Bronski said. He had nearly three meters of wire loose now. Peering briefly up at the ceiling light rectangle, he unwrapped another meter. "Bhurtala like to make that kind of grand entrance. Kolchin, do you have a spare nut and bolt over there?"

"Sure." Kolchin lobbed them across to him. "The second bola's ready."

"Start poking holes in those floater pads," Bronski ordered. "Make sure the outer mattress cover doesn't touch the liquid that comes out—they're usually treated with catalytic sealer coagulant. Cavanagh, go stand there in the corner away from the door and be ready to run. And don't get any of the floater liquid on your boots—it's slippery as hell."

Silently, Cavanagh complied. Bronski wrapped the loose end of his wire around the bolt and secured it with the nut, then took up position off to one side of the room with Kolchin's slingshot. Kolchin was busily puncturing the floater pads, releasing the dark, faintly noxious-smelling fluid inside. By the time he'd finished and collected his two bolas, the pool had spread out to cover a good half of the floor. "Ready?" he asked Bronski, stepping over to the door.

Bronski set his wire-wrapped projectile against the elastic and pulled it back. "Ready."

Kolchin nodded. Keeping clear of the door itself, he eased the end of his stiffener into the gap he'd opened earlier in the edge of the lock cover. For a moment he probed around; then, with a distinctive snick, the lock tripped.

As the one Bhurt had earlier, the two Bhurtala outside must have been just waiting for their opportunity. With a horrendous crash the door was flung open and both of the big aliens charged into the room, eager for trouble.

They got it, but not the kind they were expecting. The first Bhurt was no more than a long pace into the room when Kolchin's bola caught him squarely at the knees, the spinning weighted cords wrapping themselves instantly around his legs. He bellowed in rage, his forward momentum faltering as he flailed for balance.

With Bhurtist muscle behind it, it took only half a second for him to snap the cords. But even as he did so, his fellow guard, already crowding too close behind him, caught the second bola around his legs and slammed into him.

They hit the floor together, hard enough for Cavanagh to feel the vibration right through the stone, splattering the walls with a splash of floater-pad fluid. The enraged bellows took on a slight gurgling as their forward momentum sent them surfing helplessly through the slippery liquid to collide with the cot frame across the room.

And as it came crashing down on top of them, Bronski fired his weighted wire directly into the overhead light fixture. There was a spatter of sparks as the wire made its connection to the power line—another spatter where the Bhurtala touched the cot frame—

And then Bronski's hand was on Cavanagh's shoulder, shoving him around the still-quivering door and out of the room. Kolchin was already outside, looking back and forth along the corridor. "Clear," he said.

"Won't be for long," Bronski grunted, pulling the door closed behind them and locking it. "Didn't get as good a contact as I'd hoped—they'll be up and making faces at the spy-eyes in a minute or two."

"Then we'd better get going," Kolchin said. "Back out the way we came in?"

"Probably our best bet," Bronski agreed. "You take point; let's go."

"This is insane, Thrr-gilag," Second Commander Klnn-vavgi said, his voice tight, his tail spinning hard. "Tell him that. It's insane."

"He won't listen to me," Thrr-gilag said mechanically, his full attention on Pheylan Cavanagh and the catastrophic situation the Human's actions had now put them all in. Whatever Mnov-korthe had hoped to gain politically from his discovery of the illegal cutting, it would have been blown away like dust by the fact that they'd succeeded in rescuing Prr't-zevisti.

But Pheylan Cavanagh hadn't understood that... and in his attempt to protect the cutting, he'd now sliced to shreds any hope of dealing with this matter quietly.

"This is your fault, Searcher," Mnov-korthe said softly. The Human arm across his neck made his voice sound a little odd, but the rage beneath it came through with no trouble at all. "You're the one who took the illegal cutting; you're the one who brought this female Human-Conqueror here; you're the one who let this male Human-Conqueror escape from you in the first place. You're finished, Thrr-gilag; Kee'rr. You and your entire family."

"You're not exactly helping the matter, either," Thrr-gilag told him, glancing at Klnn-dawan-a and Klnn-vavgi. Whatever happened, he had to keep both of them as far out of this as possible. There were probably legal limits as to what an agent of the Dhaa'rr could do to a Kee'rr. He doubted such limits existed for members of his own clan. "You're the one who ordered the warriors to shoot Melinda Cavanagh—"

"She attacked me," Mnov-korthe snapped.

"And you could probably resolve this right now by pledging not to harm either of them," Thrr-gilag snapped back.

Mnov-korthe flicked the tip of his tongue in contempt. "I will make no such pledge," he said. "Not to enemies of the Zhirrzh."

"Why, because Pheylan Cavanagh was able to grab you?" Thrr-gilag said with some contempt of his own. "Get it through your head, Mnov-korthe, that there are bigger things at risk here than your pride. Maybe even an end of the war."

Mnov-korthe smiled thinly. "The war will end soon enough," he said with quiet assurance. "With a victory for the Zhirrzh."

Thrr-gilag felt his midlight pupils narrow. What did he mean by that—?

"Second Commander!" a thin Elder voice broke into his thoughts. "The Human-Conquerors are launching an attack!"

"Where are they?" Klnn-vavgi demanded.

"Still in flight, coming from the east," a second Elder reported. "Coming in force. One of their spacecraft appears to be attempting to leave the planet—"

"Second Commander, the other Human-Conqueror prisoner has escaped!" a third Elder shouted. "Those explosions—they tore an opening in his holding room. He has disabled both warriors guarding him and has taken one of their laser rifles."

"Things seem to be falling apart around you, Second Commander," Mnov-korthe suggested, his voice smooth with menace. "You'd better get outside and deal with them. Just leave me those two warriors and some Elders I can give orders to."

"You can't do that, Klnn-vavgi," Klnn-dawan-a said urgently. "He'll kill the Human-Conquerors if you leave. You can't let that happen."

"I'm in command on Dorcas, Second Commander," Mnov-korthe reminded him. "You will obey my orders."

Klnn-vavgi grimaced... and then, even as Thrr-gilag watched, he seemed to straighten up to a decision. "Communicator, go to the warriors at the base of the Human-Conqueror aircraft," he ordered. "Tell them that Commander Thrr-mezaz is to be released immediately and returned to command."

"I absolutely forbid that," Mnov-korthe snapped before the Elder could reply. "I'm in command here—I have a document so stating from the Overclan Seating."

Prr't-zevisti reappeared. "A message from the Overclan Prime, Second Commander: 'I concur with your decision to reinstate Commander Thrr-mezaz—' "

"You will keep silence, traitor to the Dhaa'rr," Mnov-korthe said, his voice a vicious snarl that sent a twitch along Thrr-gilag's tail. "I reject your claim that you're in contact with the Overclan Prime. It's utterly impossible. You are speaking criminal lies."

"But I can prove it," Prr't-zevisti insisted. "Ask any question you wish—"

"And even if you were, the significance and importance of this particular Overclan Prime will very shortly fade into the mists of history," Mnov-korthe added, his eyes flicking back and forth now between Klnn-vavgi and the two warriors. "When the Speaker for Dhaa'rr has exposed his treason, those who have stood by him will fall along with him."

Thrr-gilag exchanged startled glances with Klnn-dawan-a. "What treason?" he demanded. "There's been no treason here."

"Keep silence, Kee'rr." Mnov-korthe flicked his tongue at the two warriors still flanking the doorway. "You two are Dhaa'rr, sworn to obey Warrior Command and the Overclan Seating. Will you stand with me, with my proved authority from the Seating? Or will you stand with criminal liars and traitors to the Zhirrzh?"

The warriors glanced at each other. "We stand by our oath," one of them said cautiously. "But—"

"Wisely spoken," Mnov-korthe said. "And there will thus be no need afterward for your families to be destroyed. Elder?"

"Yes?"

"Inform my brother Mnov-dornt that he is to assume command of the battle preparations," Mnov-korthe ordered. "Tell him I'll be joining him soon. Warriors, you will escort Second Commander Klnn-vavgi to the Human-Conqueror aircraft to join with Commander Thrr-mezaz."

"You can't do that," Thrr-gilag said, taking a step forward.

"But before you do," Mnov-korthe amended, "you will carry out one other task." His tongue flicked out toward Thrr-gilag. "This Kee'rr is a traitor to the Zhirrzh and, through his contacts with the Human-Conquerors, is a clear danger to this warrior force. I therefore order him raised to Eldership.

"Now."

"They won't listen to me," Prr't-zevisti said, his voice trembling with fear and frustration. "That Dhaa'rr—Mnov-korthe—refuses to believe I'm delivering messages from you. He's denouncing me as a criminal liar; and he's saying that you're a traitor."

The Prime flicked his tongue savagely. He would have expected an agent of Speaker Cvv-panav to be ruthless, but not to be so audacious as to cry treason. What in the eighteen worlds did Cvv-panav have poised that he could even think of taking such a stupendous risk? "Go to Commander Thrr-mezaz," he bit out. "Tell him that I order him to resume command."

"I can't reach him," Prr't-zevisti said. "He's inside the Human's metal aircraft."

"What about the warriors guarding him?"

"Both are Dhaa'rr," Prr't-zevisti said, his voice sounding distracted. Listening to what was happening on Dorcas. "Mnov-korthe is ordering his brother Mnov-dornt to be put in command. Ordering Second Commander Klnn-vavgi to be put in detention with Commander Thrr-mezaz—"

He jerked suddenly. "He's ordering the warriors to raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership!"

"Get back there," the Prime snapped. "Order them not to obey."

Prr't-zevisti was already gone. "Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik breathed. "My son—will he—?"

The Prime looked at him. For perhaps the first time really looked at him. At that pale Elder face, echoing a lifetime of simple honest labor. A face that had no doubt been filled with shame for his wife when the fsss theft he'd helped to organize had branded her a criminal. A face now filled with anxiety for the danger his son was in.

Back when all of this had started, the previous Primes had insisted that it was sometimes necessary for individuals to be sacrificed for the greater political good. Distantly, the Prime wondered if any of them had ever had to face the individuals they had so sacrificed.

"ETA, twelve minutes," Takara reported. "We'll be in range of those outer laser installations in ten."

"Understood," Holloway said. "Stand by."

"Yes, sir."

He gazed out the canopy at the scattering of lights ahead marking the Zhirrzh encampment, a small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Melinda Cavanagh was not going to approve of this at all. Considering her feelings toward the Zhirrzh in general and Prr't-zevisti in particular, in fact, she might well decide to hate him for what he was about to do.

But, ultimately, that didn't matter. It was her life that was at stake here, and her brother's life, and the lives of a lot of good Peacekeepers. And if the loss of her respect was the price he had to pay to protect those lives, then so be it.

"Activate," he ordered.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the two Zhirrzh warriors turned their weapons away from Pheylan. Melinda sighed with relief—

And gasped as the muzzles turned to line up instead on Thrr-gilag. "Wait!" she shouted. "No. Stop!"

"It is too late, Melinda Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag said. He drew himself up, his corkscrewing tail slowing down as he apparently accepted the inevitable.

"Wait," Melinda pleaded, twisting her head around to look at him more fully. "Tell him we'll make a deal. If Pheylan lets him go—"

And then, to her horror, Thrr-gilag suddenly gasped, a violent convulsion running through his body. Twisting at the waist, he bent over to one side and toppled to the floor.

"No!" Melinda gasped. She wrenched her head back around toward the other Zhirrzh—

To an incredible sight. Klnn-dawan-a was on her knees, only Klnn-vavgi's slack grip on her arm keeping her from collapsing completely. Klnn-vavgi himself was gripping the edge of the table with his other hand, swaying back and forth as if suddenly gone drunk. The two warriors were similarly staggering, leaning on their laser rifles for balance.

And then Prr't-zevisti screamed, a bizarre, unearthly sound... and abruptly Melinda understood.

"Pheylan, get their weapons," she called. "Quickly."

Mnov-korthe was twisting dizzily in his grip; shoving him aside, Pheylan hobbled across to the warriors. Wrenching one of the weapons away, he touched something on the barrel, and suddenly Melinda was free of the grip pinioning her arms and legs. She scrambled to her feet as Pheylan relieved the second warrior of his weapon. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

"Holloway put a white-noise radio transmitter in the vital-signs monitor," she said, taking one of the rifles from him. "He didn't bother to tell me that he'd set up a remote trigger for it."

"I guess that pretty well proves this Elderdeath-weapon theory," Pheylan said, the beads of sweat on his face evidence of what his trek across the room had cost him. "What now?"

"We shut the thing off, that's what," Melinda said, studying the laser rifle in her hands. She'd seen Holloway's techs demonstrating how it worked....

"No, Melinda Cavanagh. You must not."

Melinda looked up, a shiver running through her. It had been Prr't-zevisti's voice, but so distorted by pain as to be almost unrecognizable. "Prr't-zevisti, I have to shut it down."

"No," Prr't-zevisti said, his transparent face as agonized as his voice. "You must... let it continue. It is the... only way for... you to stop... the attack."

"But I can't let you suffer like this," she protested.

"You have to," Pheylan said, taking the rifle from her hand. "He's right—you've got to get out there and stop Holloway before he wrecks everything. The radio's all that's keeping the Zhirrzh off balance—you won't get ten meters without it."

Melinda bit hard at her lip. But it was hurting them all so horribly— But it's not killing them, she told herself sternly. Neither the Elders nor the warriors. You're a surgeon; start thinking surgical priorities. "All right," she said. "How do I do it?"

"First get out of that obedience suit," Pheylan told her, reaching over to unfasten the suit's neck. "They'll have another trigger for it out there somewhere. Then get over to that aircar parked at the south end of the landing field, the one you said Janovetz came here in. There should be a laser comm built in. You know how to use one?"

"I think so," Melinda said, pulling off the last leg of the suit and shivering as the evening air hit sweaty skin. "What then?"

"Then you say whatever you have to to get Holloway to pull back," Pheylan said grimly.

She looked at Thrr-gilag, clutching dizzily at the floor. "Thrr-gilag...?"

"I will explain to Klnn-vavgi," the other panted. "And the Overclan Prime will also understand. Go. Quickly."

"All right." Melinda opened the door; paused. The radio over there, still blaring its Elderdeath pain... "Give me two minutes," she told her brother. "Then destroy that radio. If I can't stop Holloway, I won't have the Zhirrzh being sitting ducks for him."

Pheylan's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Two minutes. Good luck."

They were perhaps halfway down the hallway leading to the back door they'd entered the fortress by when Kolchin abruptly stopped. "Someone's coming," he whispered, taking a step back and pushing open the door he'd just passed. He glanced in and nodded, and three seconds later they were inside. Kolchin closed the door to a crack, peering out through the narrow gap, and a moment later Cavanagh heard the rhythmic thudding of heavy feet approaching down the corridor. The footsteps passed, faded away— "Valloittaja?" Bronski asked quietly.

"No," Kolchin said, easing the door open and looking out after them. "A different Mrach and two Bhurtala."

Bronski nodded. "Let's hope they're not the guard change."

"Clear," Kolchin said, opening the door the rest of the way and slipping outside.

They reached the tunnel leading to the exit door without seeing or hearing anyone else. There Bronski stopped, peering cautiously down the tunnel. "Well, come on," Cavanagh urged. "What are we waiting for?"

"I don't know," Bronski muttered. "Something feels wrong about all this. It's a little too easy."

"They're planning to kill us," Cavanagh pointed out tartly. "What could they have planned that's worse?"

"Point," Bronski conceded. "All right, let's give it a try." He stepped into the tunnel—

"Lord Stewart Cavanagh."

Cavanagh spun around toward the voice. Thrr't-rokik had finally returned. "Thrr't-rokik!" he said in relief. "We thought something had happened to you—"

"What's happening on Dorcas?" Bronski interrupted.

"There is still trouble," the Elder said, his words tumbling over each other. "But there is new trouble here. The Mrachanis have wrapped a second metal sheet directly around the Closed Mouth. The Elders are now sealed inside, and I cannot talk to Speaker Nzz-oonaz. They are also putting many objects on the ceiling of the hangar."

"What do the objects look like?" Bronski asked. "Long, narrow tubes?" He demonstrated with his hands.

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "Many of them in a single bundle. And many bundles."

Bronski swore. "Fracture explosives," he said. "Damn it all—Valloittaja's trying to collapse the cliffs above the hangar."

Cavanagh felt his chest tighten. "With the Zhirrzh ship still inside?"

"Yeah, it's called burying your mistakes," Bronski said, starting down the exit tunnel and gesturing the others to follow. "I knew this would be coming—I just didn't figure on the Zhirrzh being able to get another ship here this fast."

"But—oh, God," Cavanagh murmured as it finally clicked. Of course: the Overclan Prime would have immediately dispatched another ship to investigate. It had closed to within six light-years of Mra now, and its distinctive tachyon wake-trail had appeared on the Mrachanis' detectors.

And Valloittaja, whose best efforts had probably not even been able to scratch the Closed Mouth's hull, had decided to settle for a stalemate. "So they're going to drop a million-ton mountain on top of the ship and kill everyone aboard," he said. "And undoubtedly try to blame us."

"Which means," Kolchin said quietly, "those two Bhurtala we saw were probably heading to our room."

"To get us ready for our grand finale," Bronski agreed. "Human bodies to show to the Zhirrzh when they arrive."

They had reached the end of the tunnel now and the door they'd entered the fortress through. "What will you do?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"Try to stay a jump ahead of them," Bronski told him, easing the door open. The cool night wind whistled in through the crack, accompanied by a sliver of pale moonlight. "I'll be damned. Our rented aircar's still out there. Maybe Valloittaja's missed a bet after all." He pushed the door open—

"Hold it," Cavanagh said suddenly, gripping his arm. "They're trying to stage this as a human attack, right? Well, to do that, don't they have to produce human bodies from an aircar wreck?"

"Sure do," Bronski agreed. "My guess is that's why we haven't heard any noise over our escape. They were probably expecting us to demolish that group who just went to get us and make a run for it. Probably why Valloittaja sent one of his stooges instead of coming along himself for last-minute gloating—he didn't want to put his own skin at risk. All we did by taking out our guards was move up the timetable a bit and save them the trouble of herding us out here."

"You mean they want us to get in that aircar and fly away?" Cavanagh asked.

"That's my guess."

"That's terrific," Cavanagh gritted. "So what exactly is this bet you think he's missed?"

"You'll see." Bronski started to push the door open, then paused. "Thrr't-rokik... look, there's a fair chance this isn't going to work. If it doesn't, the three of us are going to die here. In case that happens—"

He took a deep breath, throwing a sour look at Cavanagh. "In case that happens, there's something the Overclan Prime needs to know. The weapon CIRCE that he's so afraid of doesn't exist. Never has existed. Do you understand?"

"I am not sure," Thrr't-rokik said, his expression odd. "The Zhirrzh have read about it. Pheylan Cavanagh spoke of it."

"He was lied to," Bronski said. "All of us were, for a long time. But what I'm telling you now is the truth. The Zhirrzh have nothing to fear from CIRCE, or from the Commonwealth. Make sure the Overclan Prime knows that."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said. "I thank you, and I will return your trust to you."

He vanished. "What did he mean by that?" Cavanagh asked.

"No idea," Bronski said. "But we haven't got time to wait and find out. Come on.'

He led the way out into the night. All three of Mra's moons were in the sky overhead, bathing the ground in a pale yellowish light. "What now?" Cavanagh whispered as Bronski moved carefully forward. "We make a run for it?"

"I'm worried about those sentry holes," the brigadier said, nodding toward the flanking rock walls where the Bhurtala had been hidden earlier. "We're only assuming this is what Valloittaja has in mind."

And then Thrr't-rokik was back. "There are three Mrach aircraft waiting around the curve of rock," he said, his tongue flicking to point to the left. "Two more there"—the tongue flicked right—"and five behind the rock above."

"Check over there," Cavanagh told him, pointing to the sentry holes. "Inside holes in the rock. See if anyone's hiding there."

The ghost flicked away; flicked back. "No one is there."

"I could get used to having these guys around," Bronski said dryly. "Go."

They made it to the aircar without incident. Bronski slipped into the pilot's seat and gave the control board a quick but careful scan. He keyed the main power control, and the board lit up with muted light. "Cross your fingers, gentlemen," he said. "Here goes."

"How are you going to evade those Mrachani aircars?" Cavanagh asked.

Bronski threw him a tight smile. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I'm not even going to try."

The roar of approaching aircars was audible as Melinda flattened herself against the side of the Peacekeeper aircar, her breath coming in quick, hot gasps. There were Zhirrzh all across the field, dimly visible in the sunset's fading afterglow. Some were still on their feet, swaying with the disorienting loss of balance the radio was causing; most had already conceded defeat and were lying on the ground twitching. Helpless and harmless.

But that would change. In approximately thirty seconds.

"Cavanagh?"

Melinda jumped. "Who—"

"Janovetz, Doctor," the other identified himself, rolling out from beneath the aircar. He, too, had gotten rid of his obedience suit. "Figured you'd come here if you got free. Where's Commander Cavanagh?"

"He's all right for now," Melinda told him. "We've got to get inside the aircar and tell Colonel Holloway to stop his attack."

"You've got to be kidding," Janovetz said. "Something's happened to all the Zhirrzh—this is the perfect time for an attack."

"I know what's happened," Melinda said. She had a flash of inspiration— "It's a trap."

"I should have guessed," Janovetz muttered. "Come on."

They circled around the aircar's nose to the landing ramp. Two Zhirrzh were twitching on the ground at the foot; passing between them, Janovetz ran up the ramp and ducked through the hatchway. Hopping up behind him, Melinda followed—

And suddenly Janovetz tumbled back out again, flopping with a terrible crash onto his back on the ramp.

"Janovetz!" Melinda gasped, dropping onto her knees at his side. Even in the dim light she could see the dark bloodstain slowly spreading over his chest and shoulder. Reflexively, she reached for a sleeve to tear for a bandage, stopped with a curse as her fingers hit bare skin, and instead felt for the wound. Not in the neck as she'd feared, but higher up on the cheek. At least he wouldn't bleed to death.

But there was Zhirrzh tongue poison in the wound. If it wasn't treated quickly...

His eyes fluttered open. "Leave me," he whispered. "Warn... the colonel."

Melinda blinked away sudden tears. "I will," she promised. She scrambled back to her feet—

And stopped. A Zhirrzh was standing in front of her, just inside the hatchway, one hand gripping his side, but otherwise apparently unaffected by the Elderdeath weapon blazing across the landing field.

Standing inside the shielding effects of the metal hull.

"I have to get through," she said, knowing even as she spoke that her human words probably wouldn't be understood. "Please. I have to stop this attack."

The Zhirrzh didn't reply; but suddenly there was a sharp word from behind her.

Slowly, she turned around. The two Zhirrzh at the foot of the landing ramp were on their feet again, their weapons and eyes pointed directly at her. All around the landing field, the rest of the Zhirrzh were coming back to life.

Following her instructions, Pheylan had destroyed the radio.

A half-dozen other Zhirrzh were hurrying up now, forming a semicircle around the foot of the ramp. As with the first two, their weapons were trained on her. "I have to call Colonel Holloway," she said, raising her voice. Surely someone out there could understand her. "I have to tell him to stop his attack."

None of the warriors replied. But suddenly, from off to her left, came a familiar voice. "Melinda Cavanagh?"

"Thrr-gilag?" she called back in relief. "Come quickly—you have to explain."

Thrr-gilag raced up to the ring of warriors, already talking. The Zhirrzh in the hatchway said something; was answered— "There's no time to argue," Melinda insisted. The sound of the incoming aircars was growing dangerously loud. "Tell him I have to get in there."

Thrr-gilag made a hissing sound. "I am sorry, Melinda Cavanagh," he said. "My brother believes me but cannot order the warriors away. Mnov-korthe has taken command away from him—"

He broke off as a faint Elder voice spoke. Melinda looked around, spotted the pale image beside the Zhirrzh just outside the hatchway. "It is Prr't-zevisti," Thrr-gilag told her. "He is bringing orders from the Overclan Prime for you to be allowed in."

Melinda looked down. Most of the warriors had reluctantly lowered their weapons.

But the original two hadn't moved. One of them spoke— "Thrr-gilag?" Melinda asked.

Thrr-gilag hissed again. "They are Dhaa'rr," he identified them. "They will not accept that Prr't-zevisti is speaking for the Overclan Prime. They will only accept orders from—"

And then, from somewhere across the landing field, another voice joined in. "From Mnov-korthe," Thrr-gilag said, sounding surprised. "But now he too is ordering the Dhaa'rr to let you pass."

Melinda blinked. Considering Mnov-korthe's last views on the subject... but there was no time now to reflect on his change of heart. The last two warriors had lowered their weapons— "Come on," she told Thrr-gilag, hurrying up the ramp. "We'll need your brother, too."

The aircar's control board was laid out differently from the civilian aircars Melinda was used to, but it took only a few seconds to locate the laser comm. "Here goes," she muttered, keying it on and hoping the Zhirrzh techs who'd undoubtedly studied the craft hadn't accidentally disabled it. The lights went on; changed color as the tracking control searched out and found the incoming attack force— "Colonel Holloway, this is Melinda Cavanagh," she called into the mike. "You have to break off the attack. Repeat, you have to break off the attack. Colonel Holloway—"

"This is Holloway," the colonel's voice boomed from the speaker. "Explain."

"The Zhirrzh leaders now know the war's been a mistake," she said. "We've got the beginnings of a cease-fire started, but a battle now could ruin it. Please break off."

There was a long moment of silence. "Thrr-gilag, tell your brother to order his warriors not to fire on the human aircars," she said hurriedly. "Or at least not unless fired on themselves."

"I obey." Thrr-gilag spoke rapidly to his brother, who stepped back to the hatchway. Melinda glimpsed a group of Elders gathered there around him—

"This makes no sense at all, Cavanagh," Holloway's voice came back. "You haven't got authority to make deals with the Zhirrzh."

"So court-martial me," Melinda retorted. "But damn it all, don't attack."

There was another long pause. Melinda clenched her hand into a fist— "I'll tell you what," Holloway said at last. "I'm still not buying this yet; but what I'll do is order my troops not to fire unless fired upon. If you can persuade your new friends down there to do likewise, that ought to show enough good faith on both sides to try to sort this out. Fair enough?"

Melinda's hand opened up again, the fingers trembling with reaction. "Very fair, Colonel. Thank you. As a matter of fact, the commander here has already given his troops that same order."

"Then we're in business," he said. "I presume you're going to want me to come down there and talk about this?"

"Please. And bring a full medical pack with you—Janovetz has taken some Zhirrzh tongue poison."

"Acknowledged," Holloway said. "We'll be down in three minutes."

"All right," Bronski muttered. "Here we go."

"Wait a second," Cavanagh told him, glancing around. Kolchin was nowhere in sight. "Kolchin's not in yet."

"Don't worry, we're not going anywhere," Bronski assured him. Reaching to the control board, he touched a switch—

And hovering just inside the canopy, Thrr't-rokik suddenly stiffened.

"Bronski!" Cavanagh snapped, suddenly understanding. "Thrr't-rokik—"

"I'm sorry, Thrr't-rokik," Bronski said, adjusting the frequency control. "But we don't have a choice here."

"I understand," the Elder said, his face contorted in pain. "Do what you must."

Bronski nodded. "This is Bronski," he called. "Code four; condition red; situation red. If you're out there, Daschka, get your rear over here fast."

"Daschka?" Cavanagh said, frowning. "Where—I mean how—?"

"Because I left a message drop for him back at the ship, of course," Bronski grunted. "We're hardly amateurs here, Cavanagh. If he got the skitter message at Phormbi, he and Cho Ming ought to be lurking out there somewhere."

"And if they didn't?"

"Then we go to Plan B," Bronski said. "Come on, Daschka, look alive."

There was movement outside. Cavanagh jumped, but it was just Kolchin. "Farewell gift from the Mrachanis," he said, holding up a cluster of blue cylinders with a set of wires attached. "I guess they didn't want to trust in their marksmanship to bring us down."

Cavanagh looked at Thrr't-rokik. "You'd better go check on the hangar," he told the Elder. "See if the Mrachanis have finished planting their explosives yet."

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

"Daschka, this is Bronski," Bronski called again. "Code four."

Again there was no response. "Looks like we've flared out, gentlemen," Bronski said, keying the board. "Plan B: we run like hell."

From behind Cavanagh came the distinctive whine of the engines. "What about the Closed Mouth?" he asked.

"Sorry, Cavanagh," Bronski said, shaking his head. "I don't think there's anything we can do to help them."

And then Thrr't-rokik was back. "Beware, Lord-stewart Cavanagh," he said. "The Mrach aircraft are raising into the air."

"Damn," Bronski bit out. "So much for engine warm-up. Here we go."

"Wait," Kolchin said, touching his arm. "Out there—two o'clock. Incoming."

Cavanagh peered out into the moonlight. Sure enough, a dark shape barely illuminated by the moonlight was lumbering through the sky toward them.

But the Mrachanis were on it. From both sides and over the top of the cliffs the aircraft Thrr't-rokik had identified blazed forward to intercept, assembling into a pair of attack formations as they flew. From a large rock outcropping in the near distance another group appeared, falling into backup position above and between the first two. Like wolves charging toward a tottering elk...

And then, abruptly, a smaller shape burst into view from the concealing shadows beneath the incoming vehicle. It flashed ahead; and as it turned toward the Mrach aircraft, a stray glint of moonlight flickered across it, reflecting off the distinctive black-and-white hull—

"I'll be damned," Bronski breathed. "It's a Corvine. It's a damned Copperhead Corvine."

The attackers' own reaction was immediate and frantic, the confident multipronged attack floundering as the aircraft suddenly recognized what they faced and scurried like mad to get out of the way. But the wolves had met the tiger; and for the wolves it was far too late. The Corvine sliced straight through the center of their formation, its cannon sputtering in all directions with deadly accuracy. Five of the aircraft flashed to vapor in midair, lighting up the sky like a Founding Day fireworks display. Four others survived long enough to hit the ground, turning there into instant bonfires. The rest scattered, clawing for the relative safety of distance.

Bronski keyed the radio again. "Corvine, this is Bronski. There's a hangar door in the fortress about five klicks south of my position. There's a trapped spacecraft inside. Free it."

"Corvine acknowledging," a familiar voice responded. "Is Lord Cavanagh there with you?"

"I'm here, Aric," Cavanagh said, leaning forward toward the mike. Why Aric would be there with Bronski's men... but they could sort that out later. "Hurry with that hangar door. The Mrachanis are planning to bring the mountain down on it."

The Corvine was already driving south. "Hang on," Bronski said, lifting into the air and following. "Thrr't-rokik?"

"They have stopped work," Thrr't-rokik said. "I fear it will be happening soon."

"Let's hope your captain's smart enough to run when the door opens," Bronski said, touching the radio control again. "Seconds count here, gentlemen."

There was no reply; but suddenly the Corvine swooped in close to the cliff wall and rolled ninety degrees to its right. The cannon stuttered again, the shells stitching parallel lines of miniature explosions across the width of the hangar doors. The fighter pulled back and around in a tight curve, swinging around to drive directly at the doors. At the last second it pulled sharply up, the twin flashes of missile launchings sparking toward the doors.

And with a roar and double flash of roiling fire the doors shattered and collapsed.

And through the smoke and still-flaming gas the Zhirrzh ship appeared, its glittering new metal sheathing torn in a hundred places by shrapnel and flying rock. It battered its way out through the opening, its hull scraping repeatedly against the crumbling remains of the door. There was a half-strangled gasp from Aric as the Corvine came around in another tight loop—

"Hold your fire," Bronski barked. "We've got a truce with the Zhirrzh."

"No—let them fire," Cavanagh suggested. "They can't hurt the hull, but it'll help clear off that metal sheathing."

"Good idea," Bronski agreed. "You copy, Corvine?"

"We copy," Quinn's cautious voice came. "Lord Cavanagh?"

"It's all right," Cavanagh assured him. "Your responsibility is to the family, and to obey all family orders."

"Acknowledged," Quinn said.

"We ought to get out of here," Kolchin said. "The Mrachanis may have heavier weaponry in the area."

"Yes," Cavanagh said, looking around and finally spotting Thrr't-rokik. "Thrr't-rokik, what about your fsss cutting?"

"Leave it there," the other said. "It would be dangerous to try to retrieve it now. And the Overclan Prime may wish me to continue observing."

"All right," Cavanagh said. "Can you get to Nzz-oonaz and his group yet?"

Thrr't-rokik flicked away, returned a few seconds later. "He is informed of new truths," he assured them. "He will not attack you. The Overclan Prime wishes to know if Lord-stewart Cavanagh and Bronski will accompany the Closed Mouth to a Human world to discuss peace."

"Sounds like a plan," Bronski said. "Edo's our best bet, I think. Daschka can send a skitter on ahead to warn them we're coming."

Cavanagh braced himself. "What about my daughter and other son?" he asked. "Is there word yet?"

"They are unharmed," Thrr't-rokik said. "The Human commander is soon arriving to discuss matters with Thrr-mezaz."

Cavanagh closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It's over," he murmured, a wave of fatigue and released tension rolling over him. "We've done it."

"It's not over yet," Bronski said grimly. "There's still that rogue attack force heading for Earth. My guess is we haven't got more than a few hours to stop them."

"Why can't the Elders just take them a message?" Kolchin asked. "Warrior Command's in charge, isn't it?"

"But Warrior Command still does not know about this," Thrr't-rokik said. "And if it is a Dhaa'rr fleet as the Overclan Prime thinks, only Speaker Cvv-panav will be able to stop the attack."

"Then call him," Bronski said.

"That is problem," Thrr't-rokik told him. "Speaker Cvv-panav now on Dhaa'rr world of Dharanv. Not accepting any communications."

Bronski swore gently. "Waiting at home for word of his grand victory, I imagine. This is going to be trouble."

Cavanagh opened his eyes again. The Zhirrzh ship was settling to the ground nearby, Quinn and Bronski's men flying high cover for it. "Actually, I don't think so," he told the brigadier. "I think I know how to get through to him. Let's go aboard and discuss it with the Overclan Prime, shall we?"

Melinda keyed off the laser comm and stepped out of the hatchway. Prr't-zevisti was waiting there for her, his face looking strange. "It's all over, Prr't-zevisti," she assured him. "We've done it."

"Yes," he said. "And I thank you deeply, Melinda Cavanagh. But I am confused. I have now been to see your brother. Mnov-korthe is still there with him, under guard of Second Commander Klnn-vavgi. Yet we heard him call from the landing area and order you to be allowed inside the aircraft."

"Yes, we did." Melinda frowned, peering out into the darkness. Holloway's incoming aircar was visible now, circling around to get into landing position. Its lights flicked on, illuminating the area where the voice had come from—

And Melinda's frown smoothed into a wry smile. Of course; she should have guessed. "Hello?" she called. "Max?"

"Hello, Dr. Cavanagh," Max's smooth voice came from the meter-long silver cylinder lying ignominiously in the dust of the landing field. "The Zhirrzh assigned to transport me seem to have run off to other duties."

"And so you listened in," she said. "And decided to lend a hand."

"You appeared to require assistance," the computer said. "I hope I have not acted improperly."