Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

by Timothy Zahn

  "Might be worth trying," Thrr-mezaz murmured. "Of course, you know what the chances are that he'd admit to having explosives aboard."

  "Zero?"

  "About that," Thrr-mezaz agreed.

  The Human-Conqueror was speaking again as they arrived at the knot of Zhirrzh surrounding him. "It's been too long," Thrr-gilag translated. "Rain and wind have erased the odors he could have used to identify the explosive." He looked at Thrr-mezaz. "Now what?"

  "We return him to detention, I suppose," Thrr-mezaz said. "Go ahead and take him back," he added to the warriors.

  Thrr-gilag translated the instructions to the prisoner, who nodded and headed off obediently with his escort. Klnn-dawan-a started to follow, stopped at a gesture from Thrr-gilag, and together with Thrr-mezaz and Klnn-vavgi they watched as the warriors and prisoner left the storehouse. "What do you think?" Thrr-gilag asked when the four of them were alone.

  "You and Klnn-dawan-a are the alien specialists," Thrr-mezaz countered. "You tell me."

  "I think he's telling the truth," Klnn-dawan-a said. "I still don't see what he would gain by lying to us."

  "He may be trying to create distrust toward the Mrachanis," Klnn-vavgi suggested. "Maybe that was the whole purpose of the attack."

  "If so, it was dangerously subtle," Thrr-gilag pointed out. "We came close to missing it entirely."

  "Besides, that just circles us back to the question of how the Human-Conquerors carried out the attack," Klnn-vavgi added. "It all becomes a lot simpler if the Mrachanis staged it themselves."

  "Maybe," Thrr-mezaz said, stepping forward and gazing at the splintered edge of the hole. Could the Mrachanis really have faked this attack to try to force the Zhirrzh to take them to Oaccanv?

  And if so, what had their motive been? To establish communications and an alliance with the Overclan Prime, as they claimed?

  Or to guide Human-Conqueror warships directly to the Zhirrzh homeworld?

  "Well, whatever happened, we're not going to figure it out here," he said, turning back to the others. "Let's get back to work. We can talk about this later."

  12

  With a creak of wooden planks, the small ferry bumped up against the dock and came to a gently bouncing halt. Memory-plastic hawsers whipped out from the hull, catching onto plant-gnawed bollards and wrapping themselves securely around them. From the wheelhouse came a shouted order in a language Lord Cavanagh didn't recognize, and the navigational floodlights winked off, dropping the area back into the relative darkness of the dock's own faded lighting.

  "We'll want to wait until all the incoming passengers have gotten off and the cargo's been unloaded," Kolchin said quietly. "Keep an eye out for anything that strikes you as odd."

  Cavanagh nodded. "Right."

  Twin gangways came down onto the dock with twin thumps, and a handful of figures emerged from the shadows on the deck and started on down, carrybags or backpacks slung over their shoulders. Most were human, but there was a sprinkling of other races as well. All had the weathered but freshly scrubbed look of sap miners returning from a brief visit to the conveniences of civilization, in marked contrast to the generally grimy condition of those waiting on the dock with Cavanagh and Kolchin for their turn to go aboard. From the aft section of the ferry a collapsible crane unlimbered itself and began lifting cargo crates from the fantail onto the end of the dock.

  For no particular reason Cavanagh found himself counting the passengers as they lumbered down the gangways. There were twenty-seven of them, roughly the same number as were waiting to go aboard. A fairly standard-size group for a midweek evening run back to Puerto Simone Island, or so Kolchin's discreet questioning had determined. Cavanagh would have preferred a larger crowd for them to hide in, but apparently even on weekends the traffic didn't swell all that much. It took a festival or other special occasion to attract any truly large groups of miners to the island.

  An elbow touched his side, and he turned to see Kolchin gazing off to their right. "We've got company," the bodyguard murmured.

  Cavanagh followed his gaze. Passing beneath one of the dull overhead walklights, ambling directly toward them, was a broad-shouldered Avuire. "Is that...?"

  "Sure is," Kolchin confirmed, waving his hand in an Avuirlian salutation toward the newcomer. "Greetings, Moo Sab Piltariab."

  "Greetings to you, Moo Sab Plex," Piltariab said, gesturing back to them. "I thought that was you and Moo Sab Stymer. You are heading to the island this night?"

  "Yes," Kolchin said. "You, too?"

  "Yes, indeed," Piltariab agreed, coming over and standing beside them. Cavanagh sniffed carefully, but the smell of the ferry's locally grown fuel oil completely overwhelmed the more subtle Avuirlian aromotional cues. "Without you there to hunt fresh prey, Moo Sab Plex, my mining group has run out of proper edibles. It is necessary for me to return to the island to purchase more."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Kolchin said. "Though of course the quality of edibles from the island is superior to anything your group could capture in a hunt."

  "More tasteworthy, but also more costful," Piltariab sighed, a burst of lilac and pepper momentarily beating out the fuel oil. "I must agree with you, Moo Sab Plex. But to our venture organizer, cost is what is important. If I may say so, he is most upset with your departure."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Kolchin said. "Though even if we hadn't left the group three days ago, we would have had to do so now. Moo Sab Stymer has hurt his arm, and we need to seek out medical attention."

  "Truly?" Piltariab said. "How so?"

  "Oh, I just twisted my wrist," Cavanagh improvised, holding up his left arm. "Silly accident; but Moo Sab Plex insists it be taken care of."

  "Hmm," Piltariab said, stepping close to Cavanagh for a better look, a musky aroma wafting along with him. "I see nothing."

  "It's in the wrist joint, beneath the skin," Cavanagh told him, wincing for effect as he turned the wrist slightly. "Human skin doesn't change texture over internal injuries."

  "Oh, of course," Piltariab said, stepping back again. "I hope you will find healing, Moo Sab Stymer."

  "I'm sure it'll be fine," Kolchin assured him. "So you'll be selling your sap and buying edibles and then heading back here?"

  "Yes," Piltariab said. "But I will also have enough time to show you to Moo Sab Bokamba's home, if you wish."

  Cavanagh glanced around them. As near as he could tell, none of the other miners in the area were paying attention to their conversation. "Thank you for the offer," he said to Piltariab. "But we can manage."

  "If we even go see him, that is," Kolchin added. "We're really only going across to get Moo Sab Stymer's arm treated."

  "Moo Sab Bokamba seemed very interested in seeing you," Piltariab persisted. "I think he would be most disappointed if you did not visit him."

  "Really," Kolchin said, sending a leisurely gaze of his own around the dock area. "Did he tell you to tell us that?"

  Piltariab recoiled with a gush of burned vanilla. "Of course not, Moo Sab Plex. If he had given me any such message for you, I would truly have told you when we last met. I wish only to offer my services, for the sake of our short acquaintanceship."

  Kolchin cocked his head slightly. "Is that the only reason?" he asked pointedly.

  "To be fully honest" - Piltariab blushed the odor of freshly cut grass - "I had privately hoped for a fit and proper reason to visit Moo Sab Bokamba again. The aromas in his house were most, most intriguing. There is also an excellent spice market near to Moo Sab Bokamba's home, so I may also make some of my purchases there."

  Cavanagh looked at Kolchin, caught the other's microscopic shrug. If the Avuire was lying or up to something devious, Kolchin apparently couldn't smell it in his odor, either. "In that case, Moo Sab Piltariab, we would be delighted to have you show us the way."

  "I am truly indebted to you, Moo Sab Plex," Piltariab said, his aroma switching to the overly fermented soy sauce of Avuirlian eagerness. "Come, let us board the ship."

&nbs
p; Cavanagh looked at the ferry. The fantail crane had shifted now to bringing aboard the cargo bound for the island, and the outbound passengers were beginning to file aboard. "Yes," he murmured. "Let us."

  It took just over thirty minutes to cross the thirteen kilometers of Sereno Strait. Cavanagh had expected Piltariab to stay with him and Kolchin the whole trip, but they were barely away from the dock when the sap miner went forward to join two of his fellow Avuirli standing near the bow. Cavanagh couldn't make out any of their conversation over the rumble of the ferry's engines, but an occasional whiff of smoked fish or peppermint pine drifted back to them on the wind.

  The ferry reached the island and found space at the fifty-year-old starburst-shaped docking system built by the original Mexican colonists in their initial burst of optimism for Granparra's future. Cavanagh found his muscles tensing as the gangways slapped down, his eyes darting across the structures and shadows of the docks, which were only marginally better lit than the one they'd just left on the mainland. If Bronski had somehow learned he and Kolchin were here and had laid a trap for them, here was where it would be sprung. Trapped on the ferry, their backs to the sea, there was nowhere to run.

  But there were no groups of Peacekeepers waiting in the shadows as they filed off the ferry with the rest of the passengers and headed down the rickety walkways toward the lights and sounds of the island. "Looks like Bokamba didn't turn us in," Kolchin murmured as they reached the faded archway that welcomed all and sundry to Puerto Simone Island.

  Cavanagh frowned. "Were you expecting him to?"

  "Not really," Kolchin said. "I was only giving him odds of one in three."

  "Only one in three," Cavanagh echoed, staring at the bodyguard. "And you didn't think this worth mentioning to me?"

  "Not with odds that low," Kolchin shook his head. "You'd just have worried. Now, where did Piltariab - oh, there he is."

  "Ah - Moo Sab Plex," Piltariab said, hurrying toward them, his two fellow Avuirli close behind. "I feared I had lost track of you. These are two of our fellow sap miners: Moo Sab Mitliriab and Moo Sab Brislimab. They will be accompanying us to Moo Sab Bokamba's home."

  "Oh?" Kolchin said, his forehead creasing slightly. "Why?"

  "Mu Sab Piltariab tuld us abuut the udurs at Mu Sab Bukamba's hume," Mitliriab said, his voice quiet and measured and with a noticeable Avuirlian accent. "He urged us tu cume smell them urselves."

  "And you had nothing better to do?" Kolchin asked.

  Mitliriab's eyes flicked to Piltariab, back to Kolchin. A very measured gaze, in Cavanagh's estimation, with a heavy weight of years and life experience behind it. "We were intrigued," he said simply.

  "You feel the same way, Moo Sab Brislimab?" Cavanagh put in.

  The third Avuire stirred. "I too wish to smell these odors," he said. Like Mitliriab's, his voice, too, carried both age and experience, though not the heavy accent.

  But there was something more than just experience in their voices and faces. Something was seriously wrong....

  Kolchin had obviously picked up on it, too. "Sir?" he murmured.

  Cavanagh took a deep breath, trying to detect and sort out the mixture of Avuirlian odors emanating from the group. Piltariab's were easy: the flashes of peppermint pine added to the fermented soy sauce, a growing edge of impatience melding with his eagerness to be on their way. But the aroma hanging around the other two was a complete mystery to him. In all his years of dealing with Avuirli, he had never smelled aromotional cues like these.

  But whatever was going on here, one thing was clear: short of hauling out their flechette pistols, there really wasn't any way to stop the three Avuirli from tagging along with them to Bokamba's house. Even with the flechette guns the point was problematic.

  And besides, if he and Kolchin were the target of this unknown Avuirlian emotion, chasing Mitliriab and Brislimab away would be only a temporary solution. "Sure, why not?" he said, beckoning them along. "I'm rather curious to see what these interesting odors are, too. Lead the way, Moo Sab Piltariab."

  "It is this way," Piltariab said, heading eagerly forward. His broad shoulders brushed past Cavanagh, trailing soy-sauce aroma in their wake. Either he had completely missed his own companions' aromotional cues, or else he was just as completely ignoring them. Offhand, Cavanagh wasn't sure which possibility bothered him more.

  Considering the lateness of the hour, Puerto Simone's streets were still surprisingly crowded with pedestrians. The large NorCoord cities Cavanagh was familiar with were similarly active, of course, but in those places most of the traffic was vehicular, with the majority of pedestrians merely making the short trek from mart or restaurant to their parked ground- or aircars. Perhaps in the island's more tightly knit community and culture, nighttime crime wasn't as big a problem as it was on some of the Commonwealth's more advanced worlds.

  Or perhaps the island's narrow streets simply discouraged groundcar traffic. The Parra vine, of course, discouraged anything else.

  The Parra. Cavanagh looked up as they walked along, peering past the lights at the dark branches of the thick vine lattice arching over the city only meters above the taller buildings around them. Centuries earlier in the leisurely herbaceous war going on all over Granparra, the Parra vine had won the battle for Puerto Simone Island, choking out the other, more deadly forms of plant life that still held sway on the continent across Sereno Strait. That victory had made the island livable for human beings; but at the same time the Parra's dominating presence had presented challenges all its own. The lattice was home to thousands of monkey-sized grooma, living in an only partially understood symbiosis with the vine, who swarmed to screaming attack against anyone who attempted to cut or sometimes even just move a section of the Parra. Livestock who chewed on the vine got the same treatment, a problem that was aggravated by the groomas' unexplained fondness for investigating, playing with, and ultimately wrecking the fences the herd keepers used to keep their livestock away from the Parra.

  And hanging over it all was the dark, unpleasant question of whether the Parra was in fact sentient. Whether it was listening or watching everything these upstart humans were doing on its island. And if so, what it was thinking.

  The group had walked for perhaps fifteen minutes when they finally reached Piltariab's landmark. "There," he said, waving a hand and soy-sauce aroma toward a cross street fifty meters ahead of them. "There - just past the spice market. To the right, down at the end of that street, is Moo Sab Bokamba's home."

  "Great," Kolchin said. "I hope he's in tonight." He brushed up against Cavanagh; and out of sight of the three Avuirli, he caught the older man's wrist and gave it a brief but sharp squeeze.

  Cavanagh caught the cue. "Ow!" he grunted, lifting his supposedly injured left wrist.

  "What is it, Moo Sab Stymer?" Piltariab asked, stepping close to Cavanagh, a rush of baking-oat-bread concern momentarily supplanting the soy sauce. "Is your injury worse?"

  "I brushed it against that vegetable stand," Cavanagh said, wincing for effect as he cradled his left wrist protectively with his right hand. "I'll be all right."

  "I'd better take a look," Kolchin said, shrugging his backpack off as he eased Cavanagh to the side of the street. "This will only take a minute, Moo Sab Piltariab," he added, opening the pack and rummaging through it. "Why don't you and your friends go on ahead, make sure Moo Sab Bokamba is home and willing to see us? We'll be right with you."

  "There is nu need fur haste," Mitliriab said. "We can wait fur yu tu finish with him."

  "No, no, let us not wait," Piltariab said, his solicitude lost again to his eagerness. "They will be all right. Come - Moo Sab Bokamba's home is close at hand. Come."

  Mitliriab and Brislimab exchanged glances, and again Cavanagh caught a whiff of that unidentified aromotional scent. "As yu insist," Mitliriab said, looking at Kolchin. "Yu will catch up with us, Mu Sab Plex."

  "Of course," Kolchin assured him.

  For a handful of heartbeats the Avuire stared at him
. Then, without further comment, he turned away. With Piltariab at the lead the three Avuirli rejoined the pedestrian flow and continued down the street.

  "That sounded like an order," Cavanagh muttered as Kolchin pulled their medkit from the backpack.

  "It certainly wasn't a question," Kolchin agreed, pretending to treat Cavanagh's wrist. "There's something about all this that Mitliriab and Brislimab are definitely not happy with."

  Cavanagh chewed the inside of his cheek. "You think it has something to do with us?"

  "I don't think so," Kolchin said slowly. "At least not directly. Annoyed Avuirli usually aren't very subtle - if they were mad at us, we'd have heard about it by now."

  Cavanagh shivered. As a species, Avuirli were pretty even-tempered; but all sentient creatures could get angry, and Avuirli had the muscle power to make anger a distinctly unpleasant experience for everyone in the vicinity. "Something about Piltariab, then?"

  "That's getting closer," Kolchin said, returning the medkit to the backpack and pulling out the binoculars. "But that's not quite it, either," he added, handing the binoculars to Cavanagh and sealing the backpack again. "Let me know when they've turned into that side street."

  "Right." Cavanagh peered over his shoulder as he looped the binoculars' strap around his neck. "They're going in now."

  "Good." Kolchin slung the backpack up onto one shoulder. "Let's go."

  They hurried ahead, ducking around and between unhurried shoppers to the side street Piltariab had indicated. Instead of turning right, though, Kolchin led them to the left, into the street branching off in the opposite direction. Unlike the right-hand branch, which Cavanagh could see now was narrow but basically residential, this side seemed to be a cross between an alley and a garbage-storage facility. A half-dozen highly aromatic chest-high garbage bins lined each side at this end, with random bits of broken boxes and decaying refuse scattered around. Like most of the streets they'd been on since leaving the docks, the alley's surface consisted of closely fitted flagstones; unlike those other streets, no one here had seen fit to put much effort into maintenance. "What now?" he asked as Kolchin positioned them on opposite sides of the alley, behind the last of the garbage bins.