by Timothy Zahn
Silently, Bronski bit down on the inside of his cheek. He would have sworn that Lee hadn't had a single chance during their time together to sneak any kind of message off to anyone. Apparently, the man was sharper than he'd realized. "With all due respect, Parlimin, I don't know what you're talking about," he told VanDiver, putting a slightly uncertain earnestness in his tone. "Perhaps he'd planned to join us for our trip, but if he did, he never talked to me about doing so."
VanDiver's expression cracked, just a little. So he wasn't absolutely certain. "You didn't say anything about this other trip to Admiral Rudzinski just now."
Bronski shrugged. "I didn't think there was any point in mentioning it, since we failed to find Lord Cavanagh on Phormbi. It's all in the complete report I filed."
"I'll make sure I get a copy," VanDiver said darkly. "Curious, isn't it? Stewart Cavanagh disappears, and no one can find him. At approximately the same time, at approximately the same place, one of my aides also vanishes. Coincidence, Mr. Bronski?"
Bronski put on his best bewildered frown. "Mr. Lee has vanished? When?"
"Apparently right after he sent that message from Mra-mig," VanDiver told him. "At least no one's heard from him since then."
"I see," Bronski murmured. "I don't know what to say, Parlimin VanDiver, except that I'll certainly initiate inquiries as soon as I get back to the consulate on Mra-ect." He half rose to his feet. "If that's all, sir, I really do have to be going."
"Sit down, Bronski," VanDiver said coldly. "I'm not finished."
Silently, Bronski lowered himself back into his chair. "Yes, sir?"
For a long moment VanDiver gazed at him, his face hard and angry and suspicious. "I don't know exactly what's going on here," he said at last. "But I can guess enough of it. Cavanagh's up to something, something on the edge of illegal or a little ways over the line, and he's got his old friends in Parliament and the Peacekeepers busy smoothing the track or looking the other way. This so-called hearing was just dripping with paybacks, from Admiral Rudzinski on down. Typical Cavanagh, all the way across the board."
His expression hardened a little more. "But this time it isn't going to fly. I'm going to take him down; and everyone who's tied in with him is going down, too. Everyone, Bronski. Do I make myself clear?"
Bronski nodded, appreciating the irony of it all. He was probably the last person in the entire Commonwealth interested in doing favors for Lord Stewart Cavanagh. "Very clear, sir," he said evenly. "May I go now?"
Slowly, VanDiver leaned back in his chair. "You're a cool one, Bronski," he said. "We'll see how cool you manage to stay."
"Yes, sir," Bronski said noncommittally, standing up and sidling past the bodyguard. "Good day to you, Parlimin."
He went through the exit door, passing between the two Peacekeeper Marines who guarded this entrance to the base proper, and walked into the public reception area. Garcia was waiting for him there, lounging inconspicuously in one of the back chairs reading his plate. "Well?" Bronski asked without preamble as the other scrambled to his feet.
"He left eight minutes ago," Garcia said, falling into step beside Bronski. "Daschka's on him. What kept you?"
"An inflated mouth with a NorCoord Parlimin attached," Bronski growled. "We'd better watch this VanDiver character - he's already nibbling around the edges of this thing. Anything new at this end?"
"Nothing significant," Garcia said as they walked through the outer door into the warm Edo air. "Aric Cavanagh made one phone call, to that CavTronics parasentient computer aboard the fueler they used."
"Yeah, they did a linkage to him in the hearing room," Bronski said sourly. "Don't think I'd want him testifying for me if I were in trouble. What did Cavanagh say?"
"Only that he had a few details to clear up here on Edo and that after that they'd be heading to Avon together."
Inside his tunic Bronski's phone vibrated. He pulled it out and flipped it on. "Bronski."
Daschka's face appeared on the display. "Sir, I'm at the Kyura skitter depot," he said. "Aric Cavanagh just picked up a message."
Bronski threw a glance at Garcia. "You were supposed to put a flagger on any messages coming in for either of the Cavanaghs."
"Yes, sir, I did," Daschka said, his lip twisting in annoyance. "Obviously wasn't address-keyed by either of their names or by any obvious aliases. He spent a lot of time at the terminal, too - seemed to be referring to his plate through most of it."
"Some code name, then," Garcia suggested. "Set up in advance."
"Probably," Daschka agreed. "Do you want me to pick him up?"
Bronski rubbed his fingers together, trying to think this through. He had so few men here, and arresting Aric Cavanagh might draw too much unwelcome attention his direction. "Let's give him free track a little longer," he told Daschka. "Stay on him - see what he does. I'll send Cho Ming over to the depot and start a search on the messages. See if we can dig out which one he picked up."
"Right."
The screen went blank. "Going to take a lot of digging," Garcia pointed out as they headed across the parking area toward their car. "Seems to me about time we called in some reinforcements."
"We don't need reinforcements," Bronski said. "We can handle this ourselves."
"Yes, sir," Garcia said. "You know, of course, that pulling Cho Ming off the fueler will leave it unguarded."
"I don't care about the fueler," Bronski said tartly. "I don't really care about Aric Cavanagh, either. The point of this exercise is to get to Aric's daddy."
"Yes, sir," Garcia murmured.
He was wondering, Bronski knew. All of them were. Wondering what was so important about a middle-aged former NorCoord Parlimin that Bronski had pulled them off important surveillance duties in Mrach space to chase the man down. Most of them probably thought it was a personal vendetta of some kind. Wounded pride, maybe, for the way Lord Cavanagh and his bodyguard had left him trussed like a prize turkey back on Mra-mig.
He couldn't tell them the real reason. Not unless he wanted them to join Taurin Lee in the private quarantine he'd had set up on Mra-ect.
Eventually, of course, they would all wind up in quarantine, Bronski himself included. But not yet. Not until they could take Lord Cavanagh in with them.
Because like Lee, Cavanagh now knew the truth about CIRCE: that the legendary weapon whose existence had allowed the Northern Coordinate Union to dominate Commonwealth politics for nearly forty years didn't exist. Knew that it had, in fact, never existed.
And there was no way Bronski was going to let that truth leak out to a populace desperately counting on CIRCE to save them from the Conquerors. No way in hell. Wherever Cavanagh had gone to ground, they were going to find him.
And were going to silence him. One way or another.
Assistant Liaison Bronski and his companion exit the Peacekeeper base reception area 18.14 minutes after the adjournment of the hearing, leaving the active range of terminals to which I have access. I continue to observe Parlimin Jacy VanDiver and his companion, but their conversation is minimal and gains me no new data. Three point eight seven minutes after Assistant Liaison Bronski leaves, they too exit the base.
I withdraw my linkage from the base computer system and consider this new data. Particularly disturbing to me is the implication that Lord Cavanagh has not been heard from recently. I replay the conversation many times, studying the facial and body expressions and auditory tones used by Assistant Liaison Bronski and Parlimin VanDiver. One of Assistant Liaison Bronski's comments in particular I find most intriguing: "We'd better watch this VanDiver character - he's already nibbling around the edges of this thing."
The antecedent of the word thing is unspecified; however, I calculate a probability of 0.93 that it refers to data not yet accessible to me. I continue with my analysis, but repeated iterations quickly diverge to inconclusive results. There are several possible explanatory theories, but none has a probability higher than 0.05. More data is needed.
Perhaps Aric Cavanagh will be able to s
upply the key information. He has stated that he will join me soon. I will therefore be patient and make plans to discuss this matter with him then.
4
It had been renamed the Closed Mouth; and as Zhirrzh warships went, it was pretty unimpressive. A midsized patrol ship designed for surveillance duty over encircled non-Zhirrzh worlds, it had spent the past eight fullarcs having over half its already modest armament hastily stripped from it. Ship Commander Sps-kudah; Pllaa'rr had bitterly protested that decision, but the protests had gone unheeded by the Overclan Prime and Warrior Command both. The Closed Mouth was going on a diplomatic mission, and diplomatic missions weren't supposed to require large quantities of firepower.
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.
