Conquerors' Legacy

4

Gazing at the ship as it was towed out of the spacecraft service building into launch position, Searcher Nzz-oonaz could only hope that assessment was right.

"You don't look entirely pleased, Searcher," a voice said from just behind him.

Nzz-oonaz pulled his tongue back inside his mouth—he hadn't realized until that beat that he'd been grimacing so openly. "I'm sorry, Overclan Prime," he apologized. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"I'm sure you didn't." The Prime flicked his tongue toward the Closed Mouth. "Having a Zhirrzh warship show up unannounced is going to be frightening enough, Searcher. We don't want it bristling with obvious weaponry as well. That's also why we decided to send only one ship, instead of a group."

"I understand," Nzz-oonaz nodded. Though the way he'd heard it, the main reason the mission had been reduced to a single ship was because Warrior Command couldn't spare any more from the war effort. "It's just that I'm still not convinced the Mrachanis are quite the innocent victims of Human-Conqueror aggression that they claim to be."

"I know you're not," the Prime said gravely. "That's why I assigned you to be speaker of this mission."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue in another grimace, thinking back to the two Mrachani prisoners his study group had brought here from Base World 12 after the escape of the Human-Conqueror Pheylan Cavanagh. The prisoners had claimed to be ambassadors, sent to ask for an alliance between the Mrachanis and the Zhirrzh, before their sudden deaths had put an end to any further discussion.

Their sudden and mysterious deaths, of undetermined and equally mysterious injuries or illnesses. Suspicious deaths, in Nzz-oonaz's estimation. Despite that, he and Thrr-gilag had been the only two of the study group to express any doubts about the Mrachanis and their intentions.

And for expressing such doubts, Thrr-gilag had been summarily dropped from this mission to the Mrachani homeworld.

No one was saying it that explicitly, of course. But Nzz-oonaz knew how to sift through the gaps between words. He'd seen how the Speaker for Dhaa'rr spoke to Thrr-gilag; had seen the long history of clan rivalry between the Dhaa'rr and the Kee'rr clans focused and concentrated into the Speaker's dislike for the young Kee'rr searcher.

The young Kee'rr searcher who was also bond-engaged to a Dhaa'rr female. That alone would have guaranteed animosity from someone with Speaker Cvv-panav's narrow-minded views of proper clan separation.

Still, Nzz-oonaz would have expected Thrr-gilag to come by and wish the study group good luck. Could his absence have another, more ominous significance?

"Don't worry too much about the details of the negotiations," the Prime said. "Your Elders will be watching everything that's done or said on Mra and giving us continuous reports. Just be sure you don't reveal their presence to your hosts."

He lowered his voice. "And remember, too, that one of your first priorities is to learn more about CIRCE. They're anxious to talk about it—the persistence of the two Mrachanis on Dorcas proves that much. I want to know everything they can tell us about the weapon."

An Elder appeared in front of them. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz, Ship Commander Sps-kudah reports the Closed Mouth is ready to lift," she said. "He requests you come aboard immediately."

Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue in a wry smile. So Ship Commander Sps-kudah was moving quickly to establish his authority on this mission. Thrr-gilag had run into the same thing from his ship commander as their study group was evacuating Base World 12. It was just as important that Nzz-oonaz leave no doubt as to who the speaker was here. "Tell Ship Commander Sps-kudah I'll be there when I'm ready," he instructed the Elder.

"I obey," she said, and vanished.

"Very good," the Prime said approvingly. "Remember to show the same authority in front of the Mrachanis, and all should be well."

"I'll do my best," Nzz-oonaz promised.

"I know you will." Again the Prime lowered his voice. "One more thought, and then you should leave. Be wary of Searcher Gll-borgiv. Speaker Cvv-panav has ambitious political aspirations, for both himself and the entire Dhaa'rr clan. Gll-borgiv may have received private instructions from him concerning this mission."

"You mean he might try to sabotage the negotiations?"

"Not sabotage, no," the Prime said. "At least not directly. But he may try to twist the negotiations to Dhaa'rr advantage, and that could prove nearly as disastrous. Above all else, the Zhirrzh must present ourselves to the Mrachanis as a united people."

"I understand," Nzz-oonaz said.

"Good. Then you'd best get aboard the ship. Good luck to you."

There were many matters clamoring for his attention; but for now only one of them was foremost in the Overclan Prime's mind. And so he left the priority vehicle at a brisk stride, passing through the corridors of the Overclan Complex without stopping or speaking to anyone, until he was sealed away in his private chambers. One of only two places in Unity City that no Elders could enter.

No Elders, that is, but the twenty-eight Overclan Primes who had gone before him.

The Eighteenth was waiting, hovering in the dim light over his desk. "I'm sorry," the Prime apologized as he sank onto his couch. "I was delayed."

"No matter," the Eighteenth assured him. "It wasn't as urgent as I thought when I first called you. Searcher Thrr-gilag was contacted by his brother, Commander Thrr-mezaz, along that secure pathway they used earlier. Commander Thrr-mezaz asked about CIRCE, and I was afraid Thrr-gilag was going to tell him about it. But as it happened, he didn't."

The Prime grimaced. "It almost doesn't matter. Too many Zhirrzh already know or else suspect."

"Yes," the Eighteenth said darkly. "Speaking of which, are you aware that Speaker Cvv-panav has left Oaccanv?"

"Very much aware," the Prime said sourly. "He said he was going to Dharanv to consult with the clan and family leaders."

The Eighteenth flicked his tongue in a grimace. "I don't like having him out there where we can't keep a close watch on him. I trust he'll at least be here when the Closed Mouth reaches the Mrachani homeworld?"

"He said he'd try to be back by then," the Prime said. "He also went out of his way to remind me that the mission includes both a Dhaa'rr searcher and several Dhaa'rr Elders. The obvious implication was that if he's not here, he'll be receiving private reports."

The Eighteenth rumbled deep in his throat. "Dangerous," he said. "You can't afford to let him challenge your command authority this way."

"I'm not overly concerned," the Prime said with a shrug. "If he pushes too hard, he knows I'll release the tape that shows his agents were involved with the theft of Thrr-pifix-a's fsss organ. I think all this posturing is just an attempt to heal some shredded pride."

"Perhaps," the Eighteenth said doubtfully. "Though if you release the tape, he might counter by disclosing the existence of CIRCE."

"Which we're not going to be able to keep a secret much longer no matter what he does," the Prime said. "Besides, the fact that the Human-Conquerors haven't yet used CIRCE against us implies that our beachheads have indeed trapped one or more of its components out of their reach. If the Mrachanis can confirm that, we shouldn't have any sort of mass panic when the news is made public."

"Perhaps," the Eighteenth said. "At least it should silence some of the current dissent concerning our war strategy. Everyone will understand the reason why we've spread our warships and warriors so thin."

"Though that understanding will be of limited comfort when the warriors start being raised to Eldership in droves," the Prime countered grimly. "I don't know, Eighteenth. The further we travel along this road, the more it seems to me that our only hope is an alliance with these Mrachanis. And that's a terrible bargaining position to be in."

"Only if the Mrachanis know," the Eighteenth pointed out. "And they won't."

The Prime looked across his desk, at the couch where Speaker Cvv-panav had been sitting a little over a fullarc ago. Speaker Cvv-panav, who had great ambitions for the Dhaa'rr clan... "Perhaps," he told the Eighteenth. "Perhaps."

There were a half-dozen Elders floating around as Thrr-pifix-a walked toward her house. Just floating there, almost invisible against the cloudy sky, doing nothing.

Watching her.

She avoided their eyes, wishing they would go away, hoping desperately that none of them would try to talk to her. She didn't know how much they knew about what had happened, but the last thing in the universe she wanted right now was to have strangers asking questions about her shame. Especially strangers who were also Elders.

They watched her until she had reached the door and unlocked it. But to her relief none of them approached or spoke to her. Closing the door behind her, she shut off their silent stares.

Not that the door was any barrier to them. She could only hope that their manners would be stronger than their curiosity.

For a few hunbeats she just wandered around the house, looking at her things, her mind and heart aching with a dull hollowness. It was her same house, with everything exactly as she'd left it. And yet, at the same time, it was also now forever changed. Before the warriors had taken her out through that doorway two fullarcs ago, this place had been a haven for her. Safe and secure, and comfortably anonymous. She herself had been comfortably anonymous.

But not anymore. Thrr-pifix-a; Kee'rr, was a criminal now, with her name listed in who knew how many records files across Oaccanv. It didn't matter that the charges had apparently been dropped, for some reason no one would talk to her about. That fact would surely be lost to the gossipers. What would be remembered amid the swirl of whispers and furtive looks was that she'd been caught with her stolen fsss organ in her house.

Delivered to her by those two young Zhirrzh, the ones who'd called themselves simply Korthe and Dornt. The young Zhirrzh who had echoed her own horror for the role of Elder, which loomed so close before her now. Who had sympathized with her desire to reject Eldership and had promised to take that decision from the hands of the family and clan leaders and to put it instead into hers.

They'd put the decision into her hands, all right. Just in time for warriors of the Overclan Seating to burst in and catch her with it.

All because she'd trusted them. How many times, she wondered, had she cautioned her own sons about simply accepting the words of a stranger?

Her gardening tools were still laid out in the kitchen where she'd left them to dry two fullarcs ago. She ran her hands over them, concentrating on the texture of the wooden handles and ceramic blades sliding along beneath her fingertips. Trying to fix the memory of their touch firmly in her mind.

For when this aged physical body of hers finally failed and she was raised to Eldership, these memories would be all that would remain of touch. There would be no more touch, or scent, or taste, but only sight and hearing and thought. She would be trapped in a vague half existence, with all the things she loved most about life forever inaccessible to her.

She didn't want to live like that. Couldn't bear the thought of living like that. But it was painfully clear she was not going to be permitted that choice. All Zhirrzh became Elders, and that was just the way it was going to be.

Abruptly, she froze in place, her hand gripping the handle of her trowel. There it was again: the sound of a ceramic blade hitting dirt. Coming from beyond the kitchen wall to her right.

Someone was digging behind her house.

A spark of anger appeared within the mist of the tired hopelessness clouding her thoughts. If some ill-mannered stranger thought he could just walk in and dig up her Kyranda bushes, he'd better think at it again. Holding the trowel in front of her like a weapon, she marched across the kitchen and pushed open the back door.

There was indeed a Zhirrzh back there, and he was indeed digging at the roots of one of her Kyrandas. But he was hardly a stranger. And he certainly wasn't ill mannered.

"Why, hello, Thrr-pifix-a," Thrr-tulkoj said, getting hastily to his feet. "Forgive me—I didn't know you were back."

"I wasn't expecting to be back," Thrr-pifix-a admitted, the spark of anger fading again into the mist as she lowered the trowel to her side. Thrr-tulkoj, a family cousin, had been her younger son, Thrr-gilag's, best friend when they were growing up. Cyclics ago their paths had split: Thrr-gilag had become a searcher specializing in alien cultures and artifacts, while Thrr-tulkoj had chosen to remain close to home, rising to the position of chief protector for the Thrr-family shrine near Cliffside Dales.

Though perhaps he wasn't chief protector there anymore, the thought suddenly occurred to her. He was probably facing charges of his own for his failure to prevent the theft of Thrr-pifix-a's fsss organ from the shrine.

Not only had she ruined her own life and reputation, but she'd ruined Thrr-tulkoj's, too. Just one more poisoned tongue slash to burn in her conscience. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd come over and see if your plants needed any attention," he said, looking down at the hole. "I didn't know how long you'd be away, and someone told me this is the time of cyclic to do core hydrations."

"That was very thoughtful," Thrr-pifix-a said. "But whoever gave you that information wasn't much of a gardener. That hole is far too big."

"Really?" Thrr-tulkoj seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry—I thought I'd be doing you a favor. I'd better fill it in, then."

"Well, fill in half of it, anyway," Thrr-pifix-a said, walking out toward the row of bushes. "Here, move two plants over and I'll show you how it's supposed to look."

They spent the next tentharc digging small holes into the Kyrandas' root systems; and when they were finished, Thrr-pifix-a was feeling almost as if the past two fullarcs had never happened. "I'm glad you came by this postmidarc, Thrr-tulkoj," she told him as he washed the dirt off his hands and arms beneath the kitchen waterflow. "I guess what I really needed was some company."

"I'm not surprised." Thrr-tulkoj paused. "What happened in Unity City? If you don't mind talking about it, I mean."

"I lived through it—how could talking about it be any worse?" Thrr-pifix-a countered. "They put me in a restrainment room for two fullarcs. Then they brought me out and took me to someone very official looking, who told me I was free to come home."

Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue. "I'm sorry, Thrr-pifix-a," he said quietly. "I feel responsible for all this."

The sound that escaped Thrr-pifix-a's mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You've got that backward, Thrr-tulkoj. I'm the one who got you in trouble, not the other way around. Me and my stupid—" She broke off, turning her face away from him.

"Your wish not to become an Elder?" Thrr-tulkoj finished gently for her. "It's not stupid, Thrr-pifix-a. Whether it's ethical or proper, I don't know. But it's not stupid."

"All I know is that it got you into serious trouble," Thrr-pifix-a said. "Along with me. In my book that makes it stupid."

"You can hardly take all the blame for yourself," Thrr-tulkoj insisted. "There were other Zhirrzh involved."

"Who everyone believes I hired to steal my fsss," Thrr-pifix-a said bitterly.

"Well, I don't believe it," Thrr-tulkoj assured her. "You gave the Overclan leaders their names, didn't you?"

"Of course I did: Korthe and Dornt, who said they were from an organization called Freedom of Decision for All."

"And?"

"They told me the group doesn't exist," Thrr-pifix-a said, turning back again to face him. "I don't know, Thrr-tulkoj. Maybe Korthe and Dornt don't exist, either. Maybe I'm just going insane."

"Insane, never." Thrr-tulkoj eyed her closely. "Tired, yes. You ought to go take a nap."

"Sounds good to me." She laughed. "It just occurred to me. We were talking so much out there, we completely forgot to fill in that oversized hole you dug. I'd better go do that."

"Oh, I can do it," Thrr-tulkoj volunteered, plucking the trowel from her hand.

"That's silly," Thrr-pifix-a chided, trying to take the trowel back. "You've already cleaned up, and I'm still dirty."

"You're also still tired," he reminded her, swinging his arm up and down, front and back, keeping the trowel out of her reach. "My mess, my responsibility. You go lie down. Or else make us a couple of cups of broth."

"You're impossible," Thrr-pifix-a grumbled. Still, she was just as glad she wasn't going to have to go back out there. Some of the Elders, she'd noted, were still hanging around. "Get going—I'll have the broth ready in five hunbeats."

Thrr-tulkoj headed out the door, closing it behind him. Thrr-pifix-a pulled out the broth pan and set it to heat, wincing with joints and muscles already starting to tighten up. She stepped to the cabinet, realized she hadn't asked what kind of broth Thrr-tulkoj would like, and changed direction instead to the door.

Thrr-tulkoj was kneeling on the ground by the first hole he'd dug, easing a small ceramic box out of it.

Thrr-pifix-a closed the door to a crack. Thrr-tulkoj pulled the box clear of the ground, brushed it off, and carefully slid it into a pouch laid out on the ground.

Thrr-pifix-a closed the door the rest of the way, tail spinning hard behind her. A small box—one she'd never seen before in her life—buried in her garden. What was it? More to the point, why was Thrr-tulkoj so interested in it?

Or even more to the point, why had he lied to her about it?

Because he had lied to her. He hadn't come there to core hydrate her Kyranda bushes at all. He'd come there for that box. What was in it?

There was a way to find out. All she had to do was cross her house, step out the front door, and call one of the Elders. It would be a trivial matter for any of them to take a look inside the box. And then, if matters warranted, to instantly alert the clan and family leaders.

Behind her the broth pan hummed that it was ready... and with the warm, familiar sound all her confusion seemed to fade away. Of course Thrr-tulkoj wouldn't be doing anything illegal out there—the very idea was ludicrous. Whatever the box was, there was surely some perfectly simple explanation for his actions. All she had to do to find out was ask.

She had the broth steeped and steaming in a pair of hand-painted ladling dishes by the time he returned to the kitchen. The pouch, she noted as he washed his hands, was hanging inconspicuously beneath his tunic.

They talked together as they sipped their broth, mostly remembering the past, speaking only sparingly of the present. And when Thrr-tulkoj left a tentharc later, Thrr-pifix-a had still not asked him about the mysterious box.

But perhaps that was for the best, she decided as she washed the ladling dishes and put them up to dry. Sufficient to each fullarc was the trouble therein, as the old saying went. Thrr-pifix-a had had enough trouble in the last few fullarcs to last many a cyclic. So, she suspected, had Thrr-tulkoj.

It seemed a long time before Thrr-tulkoj's voice came to him, hiding in the darkness in the depths of the grayworld. "It's all right. We're clear."

Cautiously, Thrr't-rokik eased his way to the edge of the lightworld. They were indeed out in the open, with the cloud-covered Oaccanv sky rippling overhead. Thrr-pifix-a's house, and Thrr-pifix-a herself, were far behind them. "I thought for a hunbeat there we'd had it," he commented to Thrr-tulkoj. "When I caught her looking out at you with the box in your hands. I'm still amazed she didn't ask about it while you were eating."

"I wish she had," Thrr-tulkoj grunted. "You could have gotten this whole thing out in the open. She's going to find out eventually, you know."

"Only if we succeed," Thrr't-rokik said grimly. "If we don't it'll be better all around that she never knew."

"I still disagree," Thrr-tulkoj said. "In fact, having seen her, I disagree more than ever. She's not just tired, Thrr't-rokik. She's worried and ashamed and frightened. Especially frightened. She knows how much trouble she should still be in, and she knows she has no business being home and free. Eventually, if it hasn't already, it's going to occur to her that some horrible deal must have been made for her release."

Thrr't-rokik flicked his tongue in a grimace. The forced ending of Thrr-gilag's bond-engagement to Klnn-dawan-a... "Horrible enough," he murmured.

"But not nearly as horrible as she's probably imagining," Thrr-tulkoj persisted. "You could ease some of those fears and at the same time let her know you're on her side in this."

Thrr't-rokik looked back toward Thrr-pifix-a's house, now almost hidden behind the vymis tree that grew beside it. "She doesn't want to see me, Thrr-tulkoj. As far as she's concerned, I'm dead and gone. She hates what I've become."

"It's not hate, Thrr't-rokik," Thrr-tulkoj said gently. "It's fear. Fear of the changes that becoming an Elder will bring to her life."

"Perhaps." Thrr't-rokik flicked his tongue ruefully, a distant sadness pulling at him. "It's strange, you know. I don't think there were ten instances in the whole of our life together where I can remember her being afraid of anything. Now it seems that fear may have become the strongest driving force in her life."

"Then go to her," Thrr-tulkoj urged. "Go on, we're still in range. You can heal this chasm that's grown between you—get the two of you back together as husband and wife. This is exactly the kind of crisis that can do that."

For a handful of beats Thrr't-rokik was sorely tempted. To look into Thrr-pifix-a's face again and have her look into his. Not merely to secretly watch and listen as she went about her normal life, but to really be with her.

But no. Thrr-pifix-a didn't want just to speak with him. She wanted him to touch her, and hold her, and embrace her. Wanted things he could never again provide for her.

And if she couldn't have it all, she would have none of it. She'd made that more than clear.

"We can't afford the risk," he told Thrr-tulkoj, turning resolutely away. "Thrr-pifix-a knows she's outside my anchorline range here. If I go to her now, I'll have to explain about that"—he jabbed his tongue at the box riding in Thrr-tulkoj's pouch—"and admit that I've been watching her."

"She'll understand."

"She most certainly will not," Thrr't-rokik retorted. "On the contrary, she's likely to make a three-tentharc stage drama out of the whole thing. And if she does, you can bet it won't be our little secret for long. You saw all those Elders loitering around her house—one wrong word picked up by one wrong ear slit, and clan and family leaders will be falling on us like hailstones."

He looked down at the pouch, tasting the faint memory of a sour flavor beneath his tongue. "And if you think you're in trouble now, just wait and see what happens when they find out I talked you into taking a private cutting from my fsss organ. And then got you to bury it behind Thrr-pifix-a's house."

Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue in resignation. "I suppose you're right," he conceded.

"Of course I'm right," Thrr't-rokik said. "And if you're locked up somewhere and I'm stuck at the family shrine, we're not going to be able to find those lying split-tongued illegits who did this to her."

Thrr-tulkoj threw a quick look around them. "Well, at least we've some names to work with now."

"For all the good that'll do us," Thrr't-rokik grunted. "It hasn't helped the Overclan Prime's office track them down."

"You assume the Overclan Prime's office wants to track them down," Thrr-tulkoj pointed out. "Remember, Overclan warriors were waiting here ready to pounce as soon as Thrr-pifix-a had her fsss in hand."

"True." Thrr't-rokik flicked his tongue in a grimace. "I wish I'd been able to listen in on that conversation Thrr-gilag had with the Overclan Prime back at the house."

"My guess is that it was unrelated," Thrr-tulkoj said. "We are in the middle of a war, you know."

Abruptly, an Elder flicked into view. "Are you Protector Thrr-tulkoj; Kee'rr?" she said.

"Yes," Thrr-tulkoj confirmed.

"I have a message for you from the Vehicle Registry Department. The transport you specified has an index number of CW-556499 and is currently registered to the Dhaa'rr office of the Overclan Seating."

"Understood," Thrr-tulkoj said. "Thank you."

The Elder flicked her tongue in a five-hundred-cyclic-old Hgg gesture of salute—she must have dated back nearly to the Third Eldership War, Thrr't-rokik realized—and vanished. "So it's a Cvv-family vehicle," Thrr-tulkoj commented. "Interesting."

"Is this the transport I saw Korthe and Dornt escape in?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

Thrr-tulkoj nodded. "I contacted the floater-engine manufacturer and had them look up the identification numbers you were able to read before the transport got out of range. Looks like the trail not only leads to the Dhaa'rr clan, but possibly straight to the Speaker for Dhaa'rr personally."

For a hunbeat neither spoke. Thrr-tulkoj broke the silence first. "We're going to need a lot more proof before we can make this public," he said. "At the minimum we need to track down Korthe and Dornt and establish a connection between them and the Dhaa'rr clan in general or Speaker Cvv-panav in particular."

"That won't be easy," Thrr't-rokik warned. "Speaker Cvv-panav would have to be crazy not to bury them away somewhere."

"Not necessarily," Thrr-tulkoj said, "Remember, as far as anyone knows, the only person who can identify them is Thrr-pifix-a, and she's sitting out here four thousand thoustrides from Unity City. Speaker Cvv-panav might well be arrogant enough to still have them there with him."

"And if he's not?"

"If he's not, then he's probably buried them and the transport in the same place. And particular vehicles are a lot easier to trace than particular Zhirrzh."

"I'll take your word for it. So we start at Unity City?"

"Right. We can take the rail from Reed's Village to the transport field at Pathgate. We should make Unity City by this latearc."

"All right." Thrr't-rokik hesitated. "You realize, of course, that even if you can't recognize them, they can probably recognize you. And they aren't going to want to be found."