by Timothy Zahn
"Right away," Thrr't-rokik said, feeling a sudden surge of anticipation. The perfect opportunity to find out who they were. "May I have your names?"
"The ship commander knows who we are," the other Zhirrzh said. "Just tell him we're here."
"Right away," Thrr't-rokik said again, swallowing his disappointment as he dropped into the grayworld. It hadn't worked, but at least now he could go tell Thrr-tulkoj that their search had struck ore.
But not yet. Clearly, the two Zhirrzh had assumed he was one of the ship's communicators. If their message to the ship commander didn't get delivered, they would realize he wasn't, and that could lead to trouble.
Besides, delivering the message might give him another opportunity to get their names. Rising again to the edge of the lightworld, he headed toward the front of the ship.
The control area was easy to find, filling the back half of the first hexagon and looking just as control areas always did in warrior documentaries. Inside were twelve Zhirrzh, busily working at consoles or conversing among themselves, preparing the ship for flight.
Thrr't-rokik looked around at them, wishing fleetingly that his son Thrr-mezaz had chosen to become a ship warrior instead of a ground warrior. He was supposed to find the ship commander, but the insignia threads these Zhirrzh were wearing on their uniforms were well-nigh incomprehensible to him. Still, it stood to reason that the ship commander ought to have the most elaborate set of threads -
One of the warriors glanced up, saw him loitering up there. "Yes, what is it?" he demanded.
Probably not the ship commander, but he would do. "Message from the entry hatchway," Thrr't-rokik told him. "The passengers have arrived."
The Zhirrzh frowned. "What passengers?"
"I don't know," Thrr't-rokik said. "They didn't give me their names."
"It's all right, Third, Speaker Cvv-panav sent them," another Zhirrzh spoke up from across the room. An older Zhirrzh, this one, his tone measured and firm. "There were two of them?"
"Yes, Ship Commander," Thrr't-rokik said, gambling on his identity. "They didn't give me their names."
"That's all right," the ship commander said. "Speaker Cvv-panav didn't give me their names, either. But I know who they are. Tell them they'll be in Stateroom Four, Hexagon Two - I'll check in on them after liftoff."
Thrr't-rokik grimaced to himself. Another failure. "Right away," he said.
"What?" the ship commander barked.
Thrr't-rokik froze, his mind racing. What in the eighteen worlds had he - ? "I mean, I obey, Ship Commander," he stammered.
"That's better," the other growled. "What's your name, Elder?"
"Ah - Cvv't-rokik," Thrr't-rokik said, improvising a Dhaa'rr name. "Dhaa'rr."
"The Dhaa'rr part I know, thank you," the ship commander said, flicking his tongue contemptuously. "You wouldn't be aboard this ship otherwise. So you're one of the Speaker for Dhaa'rr's family. I might have known. Let me tell you something, Cvv't-rokik: on a warrior ship, even a lowly supply ship like the Willing Servant, family influence only goes so far. You forget proper warrior discipline and protocol again, and you'll be back in your shrine, drifting on the wind and waiting for the excitement of watching the next sunset. Understood?"
"Yes, Ship Commander," Thrr't-rokik said humbly.
"Good. Now get going."
"I obey, Ship Commander," Thrr't-rokik said, and vanished, embarrassment and self-disgust mixing on his tongue at his blunder. That much about warriors he did know.
He flicked to the entry hatchway again. The two passengers were waiting inside, their travel bags dropped on the deck at their feet, their expressions beginning to show signs of impatience. "The ship commander bids you welcome," he told them. "You'll be quartered in Stateroom Four, Hexagon Two, and he'll speak with you later."
"Fine," the taller Zhirrzh said. "Which way?"
Thrr't-rokik hadn't the faintest idea, but fortunately he'd anticipated the question. The beat his message was delivered, he dropped deep into the grayworld. With good luck the two passengers would assume he'd merely dashed off on other business and hadn't heard their question.
But whether they assumed that or not, he had no time to waste. He'd found them, and he was not going to let them get away from him.
He flicked back to Thrr-tulkoj, standing unobtrusively among the bustling activity and pretending to check a stack of containers against a list board some careless inspector had left lying around. "I've found them," he murmured to the young protector.
"Where?" Thrr-tulkoj murmured back, still checking the numbers.
"Two ships over," Thrr't-rokik told him, pointing to his right. "They've just gone aboard as passengers on a ship named the Willing Servant. Small ship, only four hexagons."
"Probably a supply ship," Thrr-tulkoj said. "Any idea where it's headed?"
"No," Thrr't-rokik said. "I talked to them, but - "
"You talked to them?" Thrr-tulkoj cut him off. "Right up where they could see you?"
"It's all right, they didn't recognize me," Thrr't-rokik assured him. "The problem is that I wasn't able to find out their names."
Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue. "We absolutely need to get those names. Any idea how soon they'll be lifting?"
"No, but I got the feeling it'll be soon," Thrr't-rokik told him. "The control area was very busy."
Thrr-tulkoj nodded grimly. "Well, there's nothing for it, then. I'll just have to go aboard."
"Aboard a Dhaa'rr warship? You can't be serious."
"It's a Zhirrzh warship," Thrr-tulkoj corrected him. "Warrior Command is unified, remember?"
"Trust me, this one's all Dhaa'rr," Thrr't-rokik insisted. "You think Speaker Cvv-panav would trust his agents to just any ship?"
"They're the Speaker for Dhaa'rr's personal agents?" Thrr-tulkoj frowned. "They said that?"
"Not in so many words, but he's the one who sent them here," Thrr't-rokik said. "The ship commander implied he'd spoken personally with the Speaker about them."
Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue savagely. "I knew the Speaker was involved in this. I knew it."
"The ship commander didn't know their names, either," Thrr't-rokik said. "So far as we know, no one in this entire landing area may know their names."
"Are you suggesting we give up?"
"No," Thrr't-rokik said, flicking his tongue in a negative. A decidedly nervous negative. "I'm suggesting that our best chance now is to somehow stow away my fsss cutting on that ship."
Thrr-tulkoj's midlight pupils contracted to slits. "Are you insane?" he hissed.
"Probably," Thrr't-rokik conceded. "But it's the only way. Someone in the eighteen worlds has to know who these two Zhirrzh are. One of us has to be there when that person calls them by name, and I'm the only one who can do that."
Thrr-tulkoj's tongue stabbed out in impotent frustration. "It's wrong," he said flatly. "It's just plain wrong. I'm the protector here. I'm the one who's been trained; I'm the one who's supposed to take these risks."
"You can't take this one," Thrr't-rokik said. "Not unless you want to enlist as a Dhaa'rr warrior. Besides, I'm an Elder. What can they do to me? Come on, we're wasting time."
The hatchway on the third hexagon of the Willing Servant was standing open, with a loader stacked with shipping containers pushed up against a protruding conveyor ramp. Two Zhirrzh were by the conveyor, laboriously transferring the containers from the loader onto the ramp. "Take a look inside the containers on the loader," Thrr-tulkoj murmured as he walked toward the ship. "Find out what's in them. Don't let anyone see you."
"Right." Thrr't-rokik flicked out to the containers, wove in and out of them, flicked back. "The four on the bottom contain packaged food," he told Thrr-tulkoj. "The two on top nearest the ship are optronic modules and parts. The two rear ones are medical supplies."
Thrr-tulkoj nodded. "Looks like they're going into a war zone."
"What out there isn't a war zone?" Thrr't-rokik countered, fighting back the growing rattle of nervousnes
s. After all, what could they do to him? "How are you going to get my cutting aboard?"
"I've got an idea." Thrr-tulkoj hesitated. "I'm going to have to take the cutting out of its box, though. It'll be completely unprotected. Can you handle that?"
Thrr't-rokik snorted. "It's not as if it's overly protected now," he reminded the protector.
"It can be damaged," Thrr-tulkoj reminded him. "It can decay, get attacked by animals or insects, maybe even get crushed or burned. Whatever happens to it, you'll feel everything."
Thrr't-rokik had already thought about the possibilities. Hearing them listed aloud wasn't helping. "Let's get on with it."
"All right," Thrr-tulkoj said. "But if you change your mind at any point - "
"Let's get on with it."
Thrr-tulkoj lowered his list board to his waist and under its cover dipped the fingers of his left hand into his waist pouch. Thrr't-rokik heard the click as he opened the small box; felt a flood of warmth and a vaguely unpleasant pressure as the protector picked up the thin sliver that was his fsss cutting. The pressure changed, becoming decidedly oppressive, as he maneuvered the cutting to a secure but hidden grip at the juncture of finger and thumb. "Here we go," Thrr-tulkoj murmured. "Stay out of sight."
He picked up his pace, striding confidently up to the loader. "Good fullarc," he said briskly to the two Zhirrzh. "I've come for a final cargo check."
"You're a little late," one of the workers said, the last word coming out as a grunt as he and his partner lifted one of the Optronics containers off the loader. "We're nearly finished."
"Besides, it's already been checked once," the other added.
"I know that," Thrr-tulkoj said in a patient tone tinged with just the right edge of official exasperation. "That's why it's called the final check. Shut off that conveyor and let me up." Without waiting for them to comply, he reached up, grabbed hold of the railing, and swung himself up toward the hatchway -
And with a startled curse dropped back to the ground, the palm of his right hand welling with blood.
"What happened?" one of the Zhirrzh yelped.
"What do you think?" Thrr-tulkoj snapped back. "I cut my hand. Shut it off, blast it."
They had already set the container hastily back down again, and now one of them grabbed for the control switch. "How bad is it?" he asked anxiously as the conveyor slowed to a stop.
"Bad enough," Thrr-tulkoj said, wincing dramatically as he peered at the blood. "I caught it on the flange edge. I told you to shut it down."
"You didn't give us a chance," one of the workers objected. But to Thrr't-rokik the words sounded automatic, with no real conviction behind them. Someone had gotten injured at their workstation, and no matter whose fault it was, it was going to reflect badly on them. "Let me call an Elder and get a healer over here."
"Don't bother the healers," Thrr-tulkoj said, peering briefly at his list board and then setting it down on the Optronics container. "I can handle this. Get that end container open."
The two Zhirrzh exchanged startled glances. "Open a container? But - "
"There are medical supplies in there," Thrr-tulkoj cut him off impatiently. "All I need is a small length of pressure bandage. Now quit arguing and get it open before I bleed myself to Eldership."
The Zhirrzh looked at each other again, then silently moved to the indicated container. Twenty beats later they had it open.
"There - that one," Thrr-tulkoj said, peering into the container and flicking his tongue at a bandage roll tucked into one edge. "Get it out of the sealer and give it to me."
"This is supposed to be for the war effort," one of the Zhirrzh said, glancing around nervously as he pulled the roll out of its plastic sealer and handed it to Thrr-tulkoj.
"What do you think all the rest of us are doing?" Thrr-tulkoj countered, carefully unrolling the end of the bandage and rerolling it around his hand. "It's all war effort these fullarcs, my friend, every bit of it."
He finished the wrapping and tore off the bandage, pressing the loose end against his hand to secure it. "There," he said, holding the hand up for inspection. "Good as new." A short length of the bandage hung loose from the roll; shifting the roll to his bandaged right hand, he smoothed it back into place with his left hand.
And as he did so, he slid the palmed fsss cutting neatly inside the roll.
"All right," he said, handing the roll back to the Zhirrzh holding the plastic sealer. "Seal it up, put it back, close the container, and let's get back to work."
"Well," Thrr-tulkoj said. "Unless there's something else..."
"No, I don't think so," Thrr't-rokik told him, looking around. They were near the main entrance to the landing area, at the very limit of Thrr't-rokik's anchorline, temporarily out of earshot of any of the workers. "I'm all set; and the longer you wait, the better the chance someone's going to ask what you're doing here."
"I suppose so," Thrr-tulkoj said. "I just - well, you know - "
"You got us here," Thrr't-rokik reminded him. "I couldn't have done any of that. This next part's up to me."
"I know," Thrr-tulkoj sighed. "I just feel so... useless."
"The last part will again be yours," Thrr't-rokik reminded him. "Just make sure you're waiting in Cliffside Dales when I get those names."
"Understood," Thrr-tulkoj nodded. "It'll take me about a fullarc and a half to get back; but once I'm there, I won't leave."
"Good." Thrr't-rokik hesitated. "And if you happen to go by Thrr-pifix-a's house on your way back, give her my love. And tell her not to lose hope."
"I'll make sure to go by there," Thrr-tulkoj promised. "Good luck to you."
"And to you."
Thrr-tulkoj turned and walked away. Thrr't-rokik waited until he was safely past the predator fence, then flicked back to the Willing Servant. For a few beats he circled the ship, noting that the hatchways and other external openings had been sealed and all support vehicles had been moved out of the way. Liftoff could be only a few hunbeats away.
And then, to his surprise, one of the hatchways opened up again.
A beat later he was inside, flicking through the ship as he searched for the two passengers, a horrible suspicion chewing into him. Stateroom Four, Hexagon Two, the ship commander had said -
There they were, walking down a corridor with the ship commander, their travel bags again slung over their shoulders. " - very sorry about this," the ship commander was saying as Thrr't-rokik eased unobtrusively into a half-concealed position in the ceiling behind them. "But the orders came directly from Warrior Command, and there's nothing I can do about it."
"Your apologies are not required, Ship Commander," the taller of the Zhirrzh assured him. "The Mrachani contact mission is of extreme importance to the war effort. If Warrior Command has chosen the Willing Servant to take supplies to them, then you must obey not only willingly but eagerly."
"Personally, I think it's merely the Overclan Prime playing politics with the Dhaa'rr again," the ship commander grumbled. "I wouldn't put it past him to divert a Dhaa'rr warship at the last beat just for the fun of it."
"A warrior warship, Ship Commander," the taller Zhirrzh corrected him mildly. "We're all unified under Warrior Command."
"Of course," the ship commander said, flicking his tongue sardonically. "I sometimes forget."
"At any rate, don't worry about us," the shorter Zhirrzh said. "We can get other transportation. You just be careful in this rendezvous with the Mrachanis."
"We will," the ship commander promised. "Farewell, and good luck to you."
They reached the ramp, and the two Zhirrzh headed down.
And suddenly the whole carefully contrived scheme had been burned to ashes.
Thrr't-rokik followed the two Zhirrzh as they walked across the landing area, trying unsuccessfully to listen to their quiet conversation over the noise of the landing area. They reached the length of his anchorline, and he watched helplessly as they continued on past it. Heading to their transport, perhaps, or else to on
e of the service buildings beyond the predator fence. And from there to another ship, and another world, and a convenient fading into oblivion.
He'd lost them.
He sighed deep within himself, too emotionally drained even to be angry. He'd lost, and that was all there was to it. Thrr-tulkoj was long gone; and even if he hadn't been, the ship and its cargo hatchways were all sealed. The Willing Servant was headed for a rendezvous with the alien Mrachanis, and Thrr't-rokik's fsss cutting was going with them.
He could abandon the whole idea, of course. Flick back to his main fsss at the Thrr-family shrine, and mark down these last few fullarcs to experience and memory and wasted time. His cutting was trapped, but considering how it was situated, there was probably an even chance it would simply fall out unnoticed the next time someone unrolled part of the pressure bandage. And there was certainly no reason anymore for him to stay with the ship.
On the other side, it seemed a shame to waste all of Thrr-tulkoj's heroic efforts, not to mention the blood he'd spilled a few hunbeats ago. Anyway, what else did Thrr't-rokik have to do?
He flicked back to the Willing Servant; and he had just decided that the first step would be to give himself a grand tour of the ship when an Elder suddenly appeared in front of him. "You," the other snapped. "Yes, you. Are you connected with the Willing Servant?"
"Ah... yes," Thrr't-rokik stammered, realizing only after he'd said it that it probably would have been smarter and safer to identify himself instead as one of the landing-area Elders. "What I mean is - "
"Yes, I know - you're not really with the ship, you're one of that shovelful of observers the Overclan Seating loaded us with," the other Elder said impatiently. "You and the rest of your pyramid are to report to the Elder briefing room in Hexagon Two immediately. What's your name?"
Thrr't-rokik was ready this time. "Cvv't-rokik; Dhaa'rr," he said. "What's all this about?"
"It's about war, of course," the Elder growled. "More specifically, it's about observing. You want to observe the contact mission's conversations with the Mrachanis, you have to be able to understand what they're talking about."
