Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

by Timothy Zahn

  "What designated Elders?" Nzz-oonaz demanded. "Who ordered this?"

  "I don't know," the Elder said. "But I noticed that both of the allowed Elders carry Dhaa'rr-clan names. And the Elder I talked with hinted the order had come down from the Speaker for Dhaa'rr himself."

  Thrr't-rokik looked at Nzz-oonaz, found the other looking back at him. "I don't like this, Thrr't-rokik," the young searcher said quietly. "Not at all."

  "Perhaps you should speak to the Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik suggested, trying to suppress his own apprehension. "He'll know what's going on."

  "Maybe," Nzz-oonaz countered. "The problem is that all our direct communication pathways to Warrior Command and the Overclan Prime are under the accuracy-control monitoring of Dhaa'rr Elders."

  "I object to your inferences, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," the other Elder said stiffly. "My communicators are all former warriors themselves, completely professional in the performance of their duties. They would not allow clan politics to interfere."

  "I'm sure that under most circumstances that would be true," Nzz-oonaz said. "But I'm beginning to wonder whether the circumstances here are normal anymore. Can you guarantee - really and thoroughly guarantee - that none of the Dhaa'rr Elders aboard the Closed Mouth would pass the content of a private conversation to Speaker Cvv-panav? Especially if the Speaker was the target of that conversation?"

  The Elder flicked his tongue. "No," he conceded. "I cannot positively guarantee that."

  Nzz-oonaz looked at Thrr't-rokik, the frustration in his expression suddenly turned to something else. "Wait a beat. Thrr't-rokik, where's your fsss?"

  "You mean my cutting?" Thrr't-rokik asked cautiously.

  "No, your main fsss. Is it anywhere near Unity City?"

  "Not really," Thrr't-rokik said. "It's at the Thrr-family shrine near Cliffside Dales, about forty-three hundred thoustrides away."

  Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue. "No more than a couple of tentharcs' flight away, though. This could work. Is there anyone there you can trust? I mean really trust."

  "Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "Thrr-tulkoj. He was chief protector for the shrine, and a close personal friend of Thrr-gilag's. I've already trusted him with my family's honor, and he hasn't failed me."

  Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue again. "We'll have to risk it. Go tell him to get to somewhere where he can't be easily overheard. As soon as he's in position, come back so I can talk to him. Have you ever done communicator work before?"

  "Not really," Thrr't-rokik said.

  "You'll pick it up," Nzz-oonaz assured him. "Get going."

  "It's really quite simple," the taller of the two Zhirrzh said, his voice quiet and almost courteous. "We've been authorized by the Overclan Seating to search for evidence of criminal activity here. Until that search has been completed, we're in command on Dorcas. You can either accept that and cooperate, or you can join Commander Thrr-mezaz in detention inside the Human-Conqueror transport."

  "Most considerate of them to provide it for us," the second Zhirrzh added. He was over in the corner, contemplating the thick-walled metal safe where Prr't-zevisti's fsss cutting had been hidden barely a tentharc ago. "A solid metal aircraft means we can isolate him from the Elders, too."

  "Your authorization makes no mention of locking him away," Thrr-gilag argued, trying hard to keep his tail calm and knowing full well he wasn't succeeding.

  "Our authorization allows us to do our job any way we see fit," the taller Zhirrzh said, his voice hardening. "We see Commander Thrr-mezaz as a troublemaker, and he'll remain out of communication until we've found what we're looking for."

  Not if they found it; when they found it. They knew about the cutting, all right. "But it's dangerous," Thrr-gilag protested. "He's also isolated from his fsss in there. If the Humans launch another attack, he could die."

  "That's a danger, all right," the taller Zhirrzh nodded. "Let's hope we find what we're looking for quickly."

  An Elder appeared. "We've finished searching the transport," he reported. "They haven't found" - he glanced at Thrr-gilag - "anything unusual."

  "As expected," the taller Zhirrzh said equably. "Shift those Elders to a search of the ground beneath the route the transport came in on. They may have thrown it outside when they saw our ship."

  The Elder grimaced - highly offended, no doubt, by the suggestion that a fsss cutting might have been treated with such horrendous disrespect. "I obey," he growled, and vanished.

  "Or are we wasting our time?" the second Zhirrzh suggested, eyeing Thrr-gilag. "Have you hidden it somewhere out of the Elders' range?"

  "At the Human-Conqueror stronghold, for instance?" the other put in. "Was that the real reason you went there?"

  "I went there because the new prisoner needs a healer," Thrr-gilag said, forcing some firmness into his voice. They were drifting uncomfortably close to the truth here. "He needs treatment, and I need him alive if I'm to complete my studies. You've searched the healer; can't you now let her treat him?"

  The taller Zhirrzh shrugged. "I don't see why not," he said. "Communicator?"

  "I'll need to go with her," Thrr-gilag added as an Elder appeared. "She'll need a translator."

  The two Zhirrzh looked at each other, and the shorter shrugged slightly. "Again, why not?" the taller said. "The two Human-Conqueror prisoners are still together. You may take the healer and her equipment across to them."

  Pheylan Cavanagh was sleeping when Thrr-gilag and Melinda Cavanagh arrived, his breathing making unpleasant rasping noises. "Glad you're here, Doc," Sergeant Janovetz said as Melinda Cavanagh set her share of equipment down and opened one of the containers. "I've given him a unit of glavamorphine from his survival pack, but he's not doing too good."

  "No, he's not," Melinda Cavanagh agreed, feeling gingerly around the discolored flesh. "But I think I can fix him up."

  Casually, Thrr-gilag looked around. Hovering above and behind both Humans, keeping back out of their sight, were a pair of watchful Elders. He looked back at Melinda Cavanagh, found her looking sideways at him, and shook his head back and forth in the Human gesture for no. Her head tilted slightly in understanding, and she turned her attention back to her work.

  For now Prr't-zevisti and his fsss cutting would have to stay hidden in the box.

  "Overclan Prime?"

  The Prime started awake, jostling his reader onto the floor beside his couch. The last thing he remembered was settling onto the couch to read more of the warrior reports.... "Yes, what is it?" he asked, focusing on the Elder hovering in front of him.

  It was the Twentieth, his pale face set in unusually grim lines. "There's a pathway just opened up for you from a protector in the Kee'rr town of Cliffside Dales," he said. "I think you should speak with him."

  "Now?" the Prime said, glancing at his armwatch. It wasn't a particularly civilized tentharc out in the Kee'rr homeland, either. "What's so important that he has to talk to me personally?"

  "I don't know," the Twentieth said. "He won't give his message to anyone but you. But he has one of the private recognition codes you arranged with Searcher Nzz-oonaz."

  The Prime frowned. What was Nzz-oonaz doing, calling out of the mission's carefully established Elder pathways? Or was this merely a case of some Elder leaking the recognition code? "All right," he sighed. "I suppose I ought to talk with him. Open the pathway."

  The Twentieth nodded and vanished. The Prime picked up the reader, checked how much he had yet to read. It was a depressingly large amount. Worse, even with all the time he'd now lost to sleep, he still didn't feel particularly rested.

  The Twentieth returned. " 'I greet you, Overclan Prime,' " he quoted, " 'and apologize for the lateness of this message. My name is Protector Thrr-tulkoj; Kee'rr. I have been asked by Searcher Nzz-oonaz; Flii'rr, to deliver a message to you. The recognition code he gave me is Mistrand over Kylee.' "

  The Prime felt his tongue press against the inside of his mouth, his mind dragging itself fully awake. This wasn't just one of the private re
cognition codes he'd set up. This was the signal that indicated potentially serious trouble with the rest of the mission. "Understood," he said. "I'm listening."

  The Twentieth vanished, reappearing a few beats later. " 'Searcher Nzz-oonaz would like you to meet with me out here as quickly as possible.' "

  "Why?"

  " 'He doesn't want to explain over an open pathway. I don't even know myself. But he assures me it is very important.' "

  The Prime frowned. "What do you think?" he asked the Twentieth.

  "I don't know what to think," the other said frankly. "I've had the servers double-check the list of Elders on the Closed Mouth, and none of them are from shrines anywhere near Cliffside Dales."

  "What about from the Willing Servant!" the Prime asked. "It had a large contingent of observer Elders aboard, and they should have reached Mra by now."

  "Also checked," the Twentieth replied. "Again, none from that part of Kee'rr territory. This could be a trick of some sort."

  "Let's find out," the Prime said. "Send this: does he want me to come alone?"

  "Good idea," the Twentieth said approvingly, and vanished. Reaching to his reader, the Prime cleared the warrior reports and pulled up the two Elder lists himself. The Twentieth was right: not a single Elder was from that region. What in the eighteen worlds was Nzz-oonaz doing? And how was he doing it?

  The wait this time was longer, as if the protector had had to discuss the question with someone else. But after a hunbeat or so the Twentieth returned. " 'Nzz-oonaz urges you not to come alone,' " he quoted. " 'He recommends you bring warriors you can trust.' "

  "Interestingly worded," the Prime commented.

  "Yes," the Twentieth agreed. "If it's a trap, at least the trapper is avoiding the obvious."

  Another Elder appeared: the Fourteenth. "I've done an independent trace of the pathway, Overclan Prime," he reported. "The origination point is indeed in the Kee'rr village of Cliffside Dales."

  "Any idea which Elder he's talking to Nzz-oonaz through?"

  "Not yet," the Fourteenth said. "They're still trying to track that down."

  The Prime nodded, gesturing to the Twentieth. "Very well, I'll come as soon as I can," he dictated. "Where do I meet you?"

  The Twentieth vanished. A half dozen of the previous Primes had gathered in the room now, the Prime noticed as he crossed back to his desk, listening with silent intensity. Activating the desk reader, he called up a map and an aerial photo of the Cliffside Dales area and waited.

  He didn't have to wait long. " 'I recommend a group of hills at the eastern edge of the Amt'bri River Valley approximately twenty thoustrides west of Cliffside Dales,' " the Twentieth quoted. " 'There's room for transports to land, as well as the privacy Searcher Nzz-oonaz wishes.' "

  "There," the Fourth said, dropping down to the Prime's shoulder and jabbing a tongue at the map. "It's certainly got privacy."

  "Yet it's not forested," the Twenty-second added. "That implies no easily concealed ambush waiting for you. And on top of hills you'll have good warning of unwanted arrivals after you land."

  "Yes," the Prime murmured, studying the photos. It certainly looked like a reasonable place for a legitimate meeting.

  And if it was a trap, he was rather interested in seeing how the plotters intended springing it. "I'll be there in two tentharcs," he said. "Will you be alone?"

  " 'I certainly intend to be,' " the Twentieth brought back the rather dry answer. " 'If I'm not, you'd better assume something's wrong.' "

  "Understood," the Prime said. "Tell Searcher Nzz-oonaz I'll look forward to hearing what he has to say." He gestured to the Twentieth. "Relay that, then close the pathway. Twenty-second, alert Commander Oclan-barjak to prepare five transports and ten sectrenes of his most trustworthy warriors. We'll leave as soon as they're ready."

  The two Elders vanished. "I hope you know what you're doing, my son," the Twenty-eighth said quietly, moving up beside the Prime.

  "I do," the Prime said firmly, opening the storage drawer of his desk and pulling out the packed travel bag he always kept there. "I trust Nzz-oonaz's judgment. Besides, I'll be well protected."

  "Even excellent judgment can be manipulated," the Twenty-eighth reminded him. "And if the Speaker for Dhaa'rr is behind this, the goal may not be an overt attack. It might merely be a ploy to draw you out of Unity City for a few tentharcs."

  "I don't know what that would gain anyone," the Prime said. "I'll hardly be out of communication with the Overclan Seating or Warrior Command anywhere along the way."

  "It may not have anything to do with you at all," the Fourth said darkly. "At least not directly." He jabbed his tongue meaningfully at the desk's secure drawer.

  The drawer containing the box that Speaker Cvv-panav had thrust into his face the previous fullarc. With Prr't-zevisti's fsss organ inside.

  Cvv-panav himself was supposedly back on Dharanv, but of course that didn't mean anything. If this was his scheme, his agents would already be in place inside the Overclan Complex. "You have a point," he agreed, unlocking the drawer and withdrawing the box. "But I think we can fix that."

  "How?" the Seventeenth asked. "Where can you hide it that would be more secure than here?"

  "In a place where thousands of Elders would be available to witness its theft," the Prime told him, sliding the box into an empty pouch of his travel bag.

  "After also witnessing a direct attack on the Overclan Prime himself," the Fourth said, nodding his approval. "Excellent."

  "At least not unreasonable," the Seventeenth said doubtfully. "A clever ploy might still succeed."

  "What sort of ploy?" the Fourth scoffed. "The Prime will have some of the Overclan's best warriors with him - "

  "Whatever's going on, we'll soon know all about it," the Prime cut them off, his tongue flicking impatiently. Never, he swore to himself, never, never, never would he fall into this infuriating habit of second-guessing the decisions of the Overclan Prime when he himself was raised to Eldership. "Seventeenth, go tell Commander Oclan-barjak I'm on my way to the transport hangar."

  He set off down the hallway, still seething, the warriors falling into step around him. And tried not to wonder how many of the former Primes back there had promised themselves exactly the same thing.

  The relays cracked, a much louder sound down in the forward hold than it was up on the flight deck. Once again, the Happenstance had meshed in.

  "Here we go again," Quinn said, his voice muffled as he floated in the zero-gee, his arms and head inside the Corvine's starboard sensor access panel.

  "Okay, fire it up," Daschka's voice came over the open intercom to the flight deck. "Let's see if they've gone to ground yet."

  "Right," Cho Ming's voice answered.

  "A little straighter, please," Quinn said.

  "Sorry," Aric apologized, shifting the angle of the diagnostic display he was holding so that Quinn could see it better over his shoulder. They'd meshed in perhaps a dozen times already since leaving the Trafalgar, returning to normal space to track the movements of the fleeing Zhirrzh warships. A perfectly straightforward pursuit strategy, apparently straight out of the NorCoord Military Intelligence manual.

  Except that in this case Aric was starting to wonder if the technique was going to backfire on them. Every time they meshed in and the fleeing Zhirrzh warships didn't, the pursuers fell a few minutes farther behind the prey. Already the warships were right on the edge of Cho Ming's wake-trail detector; another three or four of these stops and they'd be out of range completely.

  "Nope," Cho Ming said. "There they are, still chugging along."

  "I see them," Daschka growled. Maybe he was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea, too. "Anyone else out there?"

  "Actually, this time there is," Cho Ming told him, "Coming in roughly from the direction of Mra-mig."

  "Mrachanis?"

  "Hang on," Cho Ming said. "It's a strange reading - give me a second to sort it out."

  Carefully, Quinn eased his
way out of the access panel, steadying himself with a grip on the edge of the access opening as he looked over toward the intercom. The silence from the flight deck grew a little thicker....

  "Got it," Cho Ming said. "It's a group of Mrach transports flying in loose formation. Breaks down to ten Hrenn-class heavy-haulers."

  "They on an intercept course with the Zhirrzh?" Daschka asked.

  "No," Cho Ming said. "Looks like the vector cuts along their backtrail."

  "Are they on an intercept with us?" Quinn called.

  "Doesn't look like it," Cho Ming replied. "Though if we keep going... hold it."

  "What?" Daschka asked.

  "They've meshed in," Cho Ming said. "Somewhere about four light-years ahead of us."

  "Directly ahead?" Quinn called.

  "No," Cho Ming said. "About thirty degrees wide of our vector."

  "They may not have anything to do with us or the Zhirrzh, actually," Daschka added. "There's a solar system over there. Could be mining ships."

  "Maybe," Cho Ming agreed. "Wait a second, we've got another group just meshing out. Two Hrenn haulers this time, heading away from the same area where the other group meshed in."

  "Sounds like a mining operation, all right," Daschka concluded. "Let's get back to the focus at hand. Are the Zhirrzh still holding their original course?"

  "Pretty much," Cho Ming said. "They've shifted a few degrees... I'll be damned."

  "What?" Daschka asked.

  "You're going to love this one, Daschka," Cho Ming said, his voice suddenly tight. "We chased ten Zhirrzh ships away from Phormbi, right?"

  "Right," Daschka said. "Plus the one that had already left ahead of them."

  "Right," Cho Ming said. "Well, of those ten I'm only reading seven now. In the thirty-two minutes since our last wake-trail reading three of them have meshed back in."

  "Have they, now," Daschka said softly. "Quinn, you might want to step up here."

  Cho Ming had finished his preliminary analysis by the time Quinn and Aric reached the flight deck. "All right," he said, running a spot pointer across a large-scale on one of the displays. "Here's my best-guess scenario. Right after we meshed out the last time, three Zhirrzh ships broke away from the pack and headed along this vector, meshing back in again in the cometary halo of this system over here. The rest continued on, hoping we wouldn't notice they'd lost some numbers."