Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

by Timothy Zahn

  "Yes," Thrr't-rokik muttered.

  "Good," the Prime said. "Then I thank you for your assistance. Go back to Nzz-oonaz and have him keep me informed of his situation."

  "I obey."

  The Elder vanished. "Thank you for your assistance, too, Protector," the Prime said, looking at Thrr-tulkoj. "I trust you understand that what has transpired here is to be kept totally confidential."

  "Of course," Thrr-tulkoj said. "If you'd like, I can keep myself available in case you need to talk to Searcher Nzz-oonaz through Thrr't-rokik again."

  The Prime eyed him, the other's name belatedly clicking. Thrr-tulkoj: the Kee'rr protector who'd been on duty the latearc when Speaker Cvv-panav's agents stole Thrr-pifix-a's fsss organ from the Thrr-family shrine. He probably had a good deal of time on his hands right now. "Yes, that's probably a good idea," he said. "Go back to where you were in Cliffside Dales. If I need you or Thrr't-rokik, I'll contact you there."

  "I obey," Thrr-tulkoj said. With a nod he passed through the ring of warriors and headed down the hill toward his transport.

  Oclan-barjak threw the Prime a lopsided smile. "You're just an old soft-tongue, Overclan Prime," he said quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

  "Everyone needs to feel needed, Commander," the Prime said tiredly. "Come on, let's go home."

  Two other Elders were just flicking away as Thrr't-rokik returned to the Closed Mouth. "There you are," Nzz-oonaz said. "Did the Overclan Prime have anything else?"

  "Just that you were to keep him informed," Thrr't-rokik said.

  Another Elder appeared. "Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv have been alerted," he reported.

  "You warned them not to move too quickly?"

  "Yes," the Elder confirmed. "Don't worry, I gave them some tips on how to do quiet evacuations - I handled such maneuvers myself a few times during the Etsiji occupation. The Mrachanis will never notice anything amiss."

  Nzz-oonaz grunted. "I hope not. Take some other Elders and go monitor the Mrachanis' movements. Thrr't-rokik, you go back and keep an eye on the Human-Conquerors."

  "I obey," Thrr't-rokik said. He moved along his anchorline, and a beat later he was back in the Human-Conquerors' cell.

  Nothing had changed since his last time there except that all three Human-Conquerors were stretched out on their cots now. Their eyes were closed; apparently, they were asleep.

  He drifted briefly outside the room. Standing across the hallway from the door, positioned where he could see anyone attempting to leave, was an amazingly wide-bodied alien of a sort Thrr't-rokik had never seen or heard of. Obviously, a guard.

  He drifted back into the cell, disturbing uncertainties tugging at him. The Overclan Prime had been so certain that the Human-Conquerors had started this war. But the Human-Conqueror on the cot over there had been equally certain that they hadn't. As had Pheylan Cavanagh, according to his son Thrr-gilag.

  Someone was lying, or else someone was wrong. But who?

  "Hello."

  Thrr't-rokik started at the soft voice, dropping reflexively toward the grayworld. One of the Human-Conquerors, the one called Cavanagh, had awakened, his eyes searching the area Thrr't-rokik had just vanished from. "I won't hurt you," the alien added, his voice even softer here in the grayworld. "I just want to talk."

  Thrr't-rokik hesitated. But why not? "About what?" he asked, mouthing the alien words with difficulty as he rose again to the edge of the lightworld.

  "There you are," the Human-Conqueror said. "My name is Lord-stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

  "I know," Thrr't-rokik said. "You said that already."

  "Yes," the Human-Conqueror said. "Do you have a name?"

  Again, why not? "I am Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. Thrr-gilag is my son."

  The alien's eyes seemed to grow larger for a beat. "Thrr-gilag's father. I'm honored to meet you."

  "Why did you come to this place?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

  "We don't trust the Mrachanis," the Human-Conqueror said. "We came here to find out what they were doing."

  "Why don't you trust them?"

  "Because we now know they have lied to us many times," the alien said. "May I ask a question?"

  "Yes," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously.

  "What are you?" the Human-Conqueror asked. "What I mean is, what are the Elders? Are you the (something) of the dead?"

  Thrr't-rokik eyed him, thinking furiously. What should he say? Everything about the Elders, even their very existence, was supposed to be kept a black secret - he'd lost track of how many times the language instructors and warrior commanders on the Willing Servant had pounded that into them.

  But on the other side, he'd already slipped up by giving away his existence to Lord-stewart Cavanagh and his companions. And besides, these particular three would soon be dead. "We are Zhirrzh whose physical forms have failed," he said, hoping he was getting enough of the words right. For some reason, understanding the Human-Conqueror language was considerably easier than speaking it. "We're anchored to our fsss organs, which are stored at the family shrines on Oaccanv."

  "So you are dead," the Human-Conqueror said, his voice sounding strange. "And yet you aren't. (Something.) How long can you live this way?"

  "Many cyclics," Thrr't-rokik said. "A fsss organ wears out only slowly."

  For a few beats the Human-Conqueror was silent. Thrr't-rokik moved closer, noticed a liquid trickling from the corners of his eyes. "What is wrong?" he demanded.

  The alien moved his head back and forth to the side. "I was just thinking of my wife, Sara. Pheylan's mother. She died five (something) ago. I would give anything to be able to see and talk with her again. Even just this way, as an Elder."

  Thrr't-rokik gazed at him, emotions he'd striven to suppress stirring within him. Lord-stewart Cavanagh had lost his wife to death... just as Thrr't-rokik might yet lose his own wife. "My wife is named Thrr-pifix-a," he said. "She does not wish to become an Elder."

  Lord-stewart Cavanagh rubbed the liquid away with his hands. "Why not?"

  "She fears the loss of her physical form," Thrr't-rokik said. "She calls Eldership not a real life."

  The Human-Conqueror looked at his hands. "Yes, I can understand that," he said. "Actually, I think Sara would have felt the same way. But I know that if I could have her back, I would be selfish enough to do so."

  Selfish. Thrr't-rokik gazed at the Human-Conqueror, an unpleasant feeling gnawing at his tongue. He hadn't really thought about it that way before. Or else hadn't wanted to think that way. Was he being selfish to want to hold on to Thrr-pifix-a?

  Lord-stewart Cavanagh inhaled noisily, wiping at his eyes again. "Do you speak with your own father and mother often?" he asked.

  "There is little for an Elder to do except speak," Thrr't-rokik said. "To speak, and to watch the world near us. We can only go small distances from our fsss organs."

  "Yet you're here," Lord-stewart Cavanagh pointed out. "How is that possible?"

  More forbidden territory, no doubt. Again, it probably didn't matter. "A small piece can be taken from the fsss organ," Thrr't-rokik told him. "An Elder can then move between the two parts."

  "I see," the other said. "That's how you're able to send messages over great distances."

  "Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "I would ask that you not speak of these things. It is not permitted to tell anyone."

  The muscles in Lord-stewart Cavanagh's neck moved. "Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll probably be dead soon. As may some of your people. You'd better warn them that the Mrachanis may soon attack them."

  "They are warned," Thrr't-rokik said, rather surprised that the Human-Conqueror would even bother to say anything about that. Thrr-gilag's doubts about the presumed levels of Human-Conqueror aggression came floating back through his mind - "They are preparing for attack."

  "Good." For a few beats Lord-stewart Cavanagh was silent. "I appreciate your telling me this," he said at last. "Actually, though, I have to agree with your leaders who want to keep it hidden. The
re are many Humans who would resent your ability to live on after physical death, even as Elders. We probably would eventually have been at war no matter what."

  He propped his head up on one arm. "May I ask another question?"

  "Yes," Thrr't-rokik said.

  "Tell me about your world. Not anything that your leaders wouldn't want me to know; just what your world is like. Its plants and animals, its hills and streams. Tell me what you liked to do when you were alive."

  When you were alive. Thrr't-rokik listened to the words echoing through his mind, an odd sadness seeping into him. Because he was still alive... and yet, at the same time, he wasn't.

  The Human-Conqueror was right. Thrr-pifix-a was right. Could it have been the rest of the Zhirrzh who'd been wrong all these cyclics?

  "My world is very beautiful," he told Lord-stewart Cavanagh, the alien words coming out with difficulty. "The home where I grew up was in a wide valley...."

  "Stand by," Daschka's voice came tautly in Aric's ear. "Almost there."

  "Acknowledged," Quinn said from the Corvine's pilot seat in front of Aric. "We're ready."

  Aric took a careful breath, held it a few seconds, then slowly let it out. This was it. If Cho Ming's estimate was right, they were about to mesh in at the spot where those three Conqueror warships had disappeared.

  Unfortunately, that was all they had here: an estimate. They might arrive a hundred thousand kilometers away, or they might land right on top of them.

  "Here we go," Daschka said. "Meshing in... now."

  The relays cracked; and in front of the Corvine the forward cargo hatch dropped open to the stars. Without missing a beat Quinn fired the fighter's thrusters, and five seconds later they were outside. "In position," he called. "Situation?"

  "No contact yet," Cho Ming's voice said. "Stand by."

  An invisible weight leaned onto Aric's chest and right side, the stars outside the canopy spinning dizzily as Quinn threw the Corvine into an accelerating spiral around the Happenstance. "You see anything, Maestro?" Aric asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

  "Some comets," Quinn replied. "Nothing that looks or reads like a Zhirrzh warship."

  "Or even a Mrach heavy-hauler," Cho Ming's voice said. "Looks like they've flown the coop."

  "Interesting," Quinn said as the Corvine eased out of its spiral into a more leisurely circle. "Where could they have gone?"

  "To ground, obviously," Daschka said. "Also obvious how they did it. The Mrachanis picked up our wake-trail, figured out when we were going to mesh in here, and made sure they were already meshed in at that time."

  "Hence, no wake-trail." Aric nodded understanding. "Question is, How do we find them again?"

  "I don't know," Daschka growled. "Actually, I don't think we can."

  "Why not?" Aric asked. "All we need to do is stay here until they get tired of waiting and mesh out again."

  "If they get tired of waiting," Cho Ming pointed out. "They might not."

  "Actually, it's worse than that," Quinn said. "All they really need to do is drop a static bomb to cover their wake and mesh out."

  "Exactly," Daschka agreed. "So let's go ahead and beat them to the punch. You two get back here; Cho Ming, get our static bomb ready to drop."

  "What's this supposed to accomplish?" Aric asked as Quinn turned the Corvine back toward the Happenstance.

  "For starters, it may make them sweat a little," Daschka said. "Maybe make them wonder if they got away quite as cleanly as they thought, or if we're instead bearing down on them with a couple of Nova-class carriers coming in from the other side. Meanwhile, it'll give us cover while we head back to the Trafalgar and raise the alarm."

  "We're going back to Phormbi, then?" Aric asked.

  "Unless you have somewhere else you'd rather be."

  Aric gazed out at the stars. "Actually, as long as we're this close already, I was thinking we might want to go to Mra."

  There was a brief silence. "Any particular reason why?"

  "That message you got at Phormbi said my father and Bronski were headed there," Aric reminded him. "Now that we know that the Mrachanis and Zhirrzh are working together, I'm thinking they might be in trouble."

  "Bronski can generally take care of himself," Daschka said. But his tone was thoughtful. "Besides, alerting Montgomery about these missing Zhirrzh warships ought to be our priority here."

  "On the other hand, Montgomery's going to be out of action for a while," Cho Ming put in. "Mra gets diplomatic skitters, too - we can send a report just as easily from there as we could from Phormbi."

  "Point," Daschka admitted. "I wish we'd followed the other Zhirrzh warships... but that's over and done with. All right, what the hell, let's go to Mra."

  "I just hope we'll be able to find them," Aric commented as Quinn sent the Corvine curving back. "A planet's a pretty big place to lose a couple of people in."

  "Oh, we'll find them," Cho Ming promised. "Trust me."

  27

  It was a long way back up to consciousness, Pheylan thought dimly as he drifted slowly through a tunnel filled with cotton-dense fog and randomly variable gravity. But finally he made it and opened his eyes.

  And even through the fog the trip was suddenly worth all the effort. "Melinda?" he croaked.

  "I'm right here, Pheylan," she said, stepping over to where he lay and smiling down at him.

  A smile that seemed curiously tight... and then, suddenly, it all came rushing back. The frantic trip through Dorcas's atmosphere, Max's incredibly competent landing, his own incredibly stupid clumsiness - And his capture by the enemy.

  He lowered his eyes from his sister's face and looked at her body. Her outfit was all too familiar: the same type of obedience suit he'd been issued during his previous captivity, optical sensors and electromagnetic arm and leg rings and all.

  Carefully, he turned his head to the side. A couple of meters to his left two Zhirrzh were looking back at him. "Right," he said, closing his eyes.

  "That's not very sociable," Melinda chided him lightly. "Aren't you even going to say hello to an old friend?"

  "I am pleased to see you recovering, Pheylan Cavanagh," a Zhirrzh voice said.

  Pheylan opened his eyes, lifting his head from the table he was lying on and frowning again at the two Zhirrzh. The alien on the left...

  No. It couldn't be. "Thrr-gilag?"

  The Zhirrzh flicked his tongue. "I am pleased you remember."

  "You'd be a little hard to forget," Pheylan muttered, laying his head back down and looking up at Melinda. Terrific. It wasn't bad enough he'd been recaptured by the enemy; it wasn't even bad enough that his sister, whom he'd come here hoping to help, was in the same boat he was. But it was humiliating to wind up with the same old interrogator again. It was like the time he was hauled back to his summer-camp cabin after his abortive attempt to go over the wall. "So who's your friend?" he asked.

  "This is Klnn-dawan-a," Thrr-gilag said, his tongue darting out and curving around to point to the Zhirrzh beside him. "She and I were once bond-engaged. The Dhaa'rr clan has now repudiated that bond-engagement."

  "I'm sorry," Pheylan said, since that seemed to be the thing to say. "Was it because I got away from you?"

  "For that and for other reasons."

  Pheylan grimaced. "Well, you've got me again. That ought to get you back in their good graces."

  "In the meantime, we've got work to do," Melinda said briskly, stepping over to a table against the wall. There was some kind of electronic-equipment box sitting there, its face turned toward the wall. "Thrr-gilag and Klnn-dawan-a are here to study you," she continued, picking up a multitool and setting to work on one of the fasteners on the box's back. "Alien physiology must be an interesting field. Reminds me of the way I used to practice medical work on my Carrie Mantha doll. You remember?"

  "Uh... sure," Pheylan said cautiously, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to tingle. The main thing he remembered about that doll was Melinda driving him and
Aric crazy with it until they'd hidden it in the back of the kitchen revamperator. Unfortunately, their mother had come along and turned the appliance on -

  In the back of the revamperator?

  He threw a quick glance at the two Zhirrzh, finally catching on. Something was hidden in that box Melinda was fiddling with. Was it his job to distract the aliens while she got it out? "I don't feel so good," he muttered, wincing for their benefit.

  "Where do you feel ill?" Thrr-gilag asked, stepping to his side.

  "I'm sure you'll feel better soon," Melinda said, coming up beside the alien and laying a reassuring hand on Pheylan's left leg.

  The touch felt odd. Pheylan looked down, noticing only then the tattered flight suit and the membrane cast immobilizing the leg. Almost as good a restraint as the Zhirrzh obedience suit Melinda was wearing, at least as far as escape was concerned. Whatever she was up to, he hoped it wouldn't call for acrobatics on his part. "You think so, huh?" he asked, looking back up at her.

  "I'm positive," she said firmly, catching his eye and shaking her head minutely. "We're all playing the Flying Muskers here."

  Pheylan frowned, more confused now than ever. The Flying Muskers had been the private club the three of them had formed with their next-door neighbor Lizza Easley when Pheylan was seven, modeled on their enthusiastic youthful reading of The Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all; and two of the four people present were enemy Zhirrzh, and what the hell was going on?

  "Just be patient, Pheylan," Melinda soothed him. "Patience is a virtue."

  Pheylan looked at the two Zhirrzh. Clearly, they'd heard what Melinda had said. Just as clearly, she hadn't been trying to hide it from them. What the hell was going on? "Sure," he murmured back. "Patience is a virtue."

  It has been 7.43 hours since Commander Pheylan Cavanagh and I were captured by the Zhirrzh, 4.94 hours since I was brought here to my current location in the former Commonwealth colony, now clearly under enemy control. Four Zhirrzh have been with me since my arrival, while three others have come and gone at irregular intervals. They have been studying me and other pieces of equipment brought here from the fueler.