Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

by Timothy Zahn

  "Melinda Cavanagh," the ghost called, his thin voice barely audible over the noise. "He must stop!"

  Pheylan had no idea what the ghost meant, and he doubted that Melinda understood the situation any better than he did. And if he'd had the chance, he would have warned her to keep out of it.

  But he never had the chance. Suddenly, to his dismay, Melinda broke away from where she stood rooted to the floor and threw herself toward Mnov-korthe.

  Again the Zhirrzh was too fast. He twisted away like a cat, her hand missing his wrist by bare millimeters. Off balance, she lunged for him with her other hand; again he evaded her. Out of the corner of his eye Pheylan saw the second guard swing back into the room, his hand fumbling up the barrel of his rifle.

  And suddenly Melinda's arms slammed to her sides, her legs snapped together, and she toppled toward the floor.

  Mnov-korthe made no effort to cushion her fall, jumping back instead out of her way as she crashed to the floor with a grunt of pain. The Zhirrzh spat something, waving at the guards with one hand and pointing down at her with his tongue. The guards lowered their rifle barrels toward her -

  And clenching his teeth, Pheylan launched himself off the side of his table toward Mnov-korthe.

  His feet hit the floor, a jolt of pain from his broken leg lancing straight up to his skull despite the numbing effect of the anesthetics. His arms snaked around the Zhirrzh's torso and neck, and he yanked back, pinning Mnov-korthe solidly against his chest.

  And nearly lost his grip an instant later as the Zhirrzh's left foot swung violently backward to slam against his broken leg, turning the throbbing ache into a red-tinged blaze of agony. Pheylan swore viciously, tightening his grip, resisting the sudden urge to break the alien's neck. A subtle movement in Mnov-korthe's right shoulder warned him, and he snaked his right hand down the other's arm just as the Zhirrzh's hand emerged from a waist pouch gripping a small hand-weapon-sized object. Twisting them both to the left, he slammed Mnov-korthe's wrist onto the edge of the table, then whipped the arm down and to his right, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. "Guns up!" he snarled toward the guards. "Thrr-gilag - tell them!"

  The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a's arm had already barked an order, and the rifle muzzles had moved uncertainly off their targets. Though not very far off their targets. "Tell them to lay the guns down on the floor," Pheylan said, breathing hard with exertion and trying to ignore the rekindled pain in his leg. He looked along the second guard's barrel, spotted the obedience-suit trigger that the alien had strapped halfway along it. "And have them release Melinda's suit," he added. "Go ahead, tell them."

  Thrr-gilag translated. The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a flicked his tongue out and said something in return. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi will not so order," Thrr-gilag said, his voice as agitated as the blur of his tail spinning behind him. "He orders you instead to release Mnov-korthe unharmed."

  "You know better than that, Thrr-gilag," Pheylan bit out. "We've been here before, you and me, remember? I'm not letting him go."

  "It will serve no purpose, Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag said. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi cannot allow you to escape. The warriors are already gathering; and if you are killed, it will greatly harm the chances for us to stop the war."

  Pheylan shook his head. "This is a matter for diplomats, Thrr-gilag. I'm one solitary soldier. I can't stop any wars."

  "But the diplomats will not hear unless you take word to them," Thrr-gilag persisted. "We have no direct contact with any other Humans who can tell them."

  Pheylan clenched his teeth, uncertainty twisting through his gut. "What was Mnov-korthe ordering just before I grabbed him?"

  Thrr-gilag looked down at Melinda, still frozen in place on the floor. "He had ordered the warriors to shoot Melinda Cavanagh."

  Pheylan tightened his grip around Mnov-korthe's neck a little. "And you said he was in command here?"

  "Yes."

  "So if I let him go, and he tells them to shoot her, they will?"

  Thrr-gilag hissed softly. "Yes."

  "Then I can't let him go," Pheylan told him. "And I won't."

  "Pheylan, this is crazy," Melinda said, her voice sounding slurred with her cheek pressed against the floor. "This is a chance to stop the war. You can't throw that away for one life. Not even mine."

  "I came here to help you, Melinda," Pheylan said, the words sounding bitter in his ears. He'd certainly done a terrific job of it. "Getting you killed is not exactly how I intended to do it."

  "Pheylan, listen - "

  "Besides, who says this Mnov-korthe character even wants peace?" he cut her off. "Or that any of the Zhirrzh really want peace? You heard the Overclan Prime - he can't even order the blockade ships over Dorcas to let anyone out."

  "That is why we need you alive," Thrr-gilag said. "Through you the Overclan Prime may negotiate a stop to the fighting."

  "And that's also why Mnov-korthe will probably order us killed the minute he has the chance," Pheylan told him tightly. "If his boss is one of those who wants the war to continue, killing us here and now is the simplest way to accomplish that." He nodded toward the spot where their ghost had last appeared. "You'd better get word back to the Overclan Prime."

  "He has been informed," Thrr-gilag said. "Perhaps he can do something to help."

  "Right," Pheylan murmured. But he doubted it. It sounded as if the Overclan Prime was in the middle of a major political fight on this one; and he'd seen enough of his father's own battles in the NorCoord Parliament to know their outcome was never certain. And if the Prime lost this one...

  "So what do we do now?" Melinda murmured.

  Pheylan looked around the room. "We start by staying calm," Pheylan told her. "We don't want to do anything to provoke them."

  "I think I can handle that," she said dryly. "What then?"

  He shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "All attack units are in the air and in formation," Takara reported tightly. "Transports lifting now, falling in behind. ETA, sixteen minutes."

  "Acknowledged," Holloway said, gazing out the aircar canopy at the hills rolling by beneath them. Ahead, the last glow of sunset was fading from the sky, leaving a hyphenated layer of purple clouds behind it. "Have Vanbrugh and Hodgson lifted yet?"

  "Their Corvine's lifting now," Takara said, pressing his headphone closer to his ear. "Gaining altitude. Base reports no enemy response yet."

  Holloway grimaced. It was a terrible risk, sending one of their irreplaceable Corvines into the free-fire zone of the Zhirrzh blockade like this. But it was a risk that had to be taken. "Have there been any more explosions in the enemy camp?" he asked.

  "Just those four," Takara said. "The spotters think they've located the affected building, at one of two centers of increased enemy activity."

  "Probably means they had Janovetz and the Cavanaghs split up," Holloway said. "You have both centers marked?"

  "Yes." Takara touched a key, and an overlay appeared on the canopy view.

  Holloway studied it briefly. Two buildings fronting onto the landing field, no more than a hundred meters apart. Perfect. "Send that to the rest of the force," he ordered. "We'll be putting down midway between them; everything around those zones is free-fire. Remind everyone that the objective here is to take out the antiaircraft weaponry, not to rack up enemy casualties."

  "They've been so informed." Takara threw him a sideways look. "You sure you want to do this, Cass?"

  Holloway gazed out at the horizon. No, he wasn't at all sure. He'd been three-quarters convinced already that this batch of Zhirrzh weren't nearly as savage or bloodthirsty as the group who'd hit the Jutland, even before Melinda Cavanagh's ghost had shown up with this radio/Elderdeath-weapon theory of his. Up to now, in fact, the war here had been remarkably clean, almost civilized.

  But Holloway's job wasn't to keep the war civilized. It was to protect the people under his authority. And right now that meant finding a way to get them off-planet before the
halucine epidemic condemned them to slow starvation.

  And if he had to flatten that entire village over there to accomplish that, then that was what he would do. Civilized warfare or not. "We're doing what we have to, Major," he said.

  Takara nodded. "Understood, sir."

  29

  "What kind of attack?" Cavanagh demanded, his chest tightening painfully. "From whom?"

  "I do not know more," Thrr't-rokik said, his thin voice as agitated as Cavanagh felt. "Prr't-zevisti says that human aircraft coming toward Zhirrzh encampment. I must go hear what is happening."

  "Wait a minute," Cavanagh called. "What about Pheylan and Melinda? You said something had gone wrong - ?"

  "Don't bother - he's gone," Bronski said grimly. He was up off his cot now, pulling his shirt off and stuffing it into the wall slot where one of the Mrachanis' hidden cameras was located. "Do what I'm doing over the camera on your side. Kolchin, I need two bolas and a slingshot."

  "Right," Kolchin said, pulling out the impromptu screwdriver he'd used earlier on the door. Pushing his mattress onto the floor, he set the metal cot frame up on its side and got to work on the hardware holding it together.

  "What's going on?" Cavanagh asked, taking his shirt off and wedging it into the slot as instructed.

  "We're getting out of here," Bronski told him. He had his own mattress on the floor and was balancing the wire-strung frame on its side against the wall opposite the door.

  "What about the Mrachanis?" Cavanagh asked.

  "They're the reason we're getting out," Bronski said. Leaving the frame propped against the wall, he squatted down beside the discarded mattress and began tearing carefully through the fabric of the outer enclosure. "You remember Thrr't-rokik quoting the Overclan Prime earlier as saying he was glad they hadn't agreed to an attack on Earth?"

  "Yes," Cavanagh said.

  "Well, he was wrong," Bronski told him. "Because when Valloittaja was marching us in here, he pretty well confirmed they had conned the Zhirrzh into launching a major attack."

  "Maybe he was just playing games with you," Cavanagh said, watching the two of them in fascination. Kolchin was making a small collection of nuts and bolts pulled from the cot frame; Bronski had gotten a tear started in the mattress fabric and was carefully making it longer. "Or else planting disinformation."

  "I don't think so," Bronski said. "I know the Mrachanis. From the level of gloating I think he was telling the truth."

  "So you're saying the Overclan Prime lied to us?"

  "No," Bronski said bluntly. "I'm saying that one of his political opponents is pulling a fast one. He's made a private deal with the Mrachanis."

  Cavanagh swore gently. Obvious, of course, now that they knew how the Mrachanis worked. "Why didn't you warn Pheylan?"

  "I was trying to find a way to say it that wouldn't tip off the Zhirrzh that I knew." The slit was long enough now for Bronski to begin pulling one of the tube-shaped floater pads out of the mattress. "Someone from the wrong political side might have been listening in. This communication system might be handy, but it has security holes you could fly a carrier through."

  "I think the time for subtlety has passed," Cavanagh said. "You'd better warn the Overclan Prime. There must be a way for him to stop the attack."

  "Not if this enemy of his is smart," Bronski said. He had all the floater pads from his mattress laid out on the floor now, lined up neatly from where he'd propped up the frame to a point about halfway to the door. "I'm sure you've played enough steamroller politics in your day to know how it's done. Anyway, from the sound of things the whole question's academic. If the Dorcas Peacekeepers have launched an attack, it's going to be a while before Thrr't-rokik comes back to talk to us. Even assuming the Overclan Prime lets him do it."

  "They want peace, Bronski," Cavanagh said. "At least the Overclan Prime does."

  "You just hold that thought. Kolchin?"

  "Slingshot's finished," Kolchin said. He held up one of the leg frames of the cot, now sporting an elastic band from his tunic waist strung between two of the right-angle sections.

  "What about the bolas?"

  "One's done," Kolchin said, indicating a lumpy assortment of bolts and nuts connected by long cords pulled from somewhere else in his clothing. "I'll be another minute on the other one."

  "Good." Bronski stepped back to the cot frame and began working at the loose wire mesh that normally supported the mattress. A minute later he had one end loose; leaving the other end fastened to the frame, he began unweaving it from the other wires.

  "All right, I give up," Cavanagh said. "What in the world are you two doing?"

  "You saw how that Bhurt came charging in here earlier," Bronski said. He had nearly three meters of wire loose now. Peering briefly up at the ceiling light rectangle, he unwrapped another meter. "Bhurtala like to make that kind of grand entrance. Kolchin, do you have a spare nut and bolt over there?"

  "Sure." Kolchin lobbed them across to him. "The second bola's ready."

  "Start poking holes in those floater pads," Bronski ordered. "Make sure the outer mattress cover doesn't touch the liquid that comes out - they're usually treated with catalytic sealer coagulant. Cavanagh, go stand there in the corner away from the door and be ready to run. And don't get any of the floater liquid on your boots - it's slippery as hell."

  Silently, Cavanagh complied. Bronski wrapped the loose end of his wire around the bolt and secured it with the nut, then took up position off to one side of the room with Kolchin's slingshot. Kolchin was busily puncturing the floater pads, releasing the dark, faintly noxious-smelling fluid inside. By the time he'd finished and collected his two bolas, the pool had spread out to cover a good half of the floor. "Ready?" he asked Bronski, stepping over to the door.

  Bronski set his wire-wrapped projectile against the elastic and pulled it back. "Ready."

  Kolchin nodded. Keeping clear of the door itself, he eased the end of his stiffener into the gap he'd opened earlier in the edge of the lock cover. For a moment he probed around; then, with a distinctive snick, the lock tripped.

  As the one Bhurt had earlier, the two Bhurtala outside must have been just waiting for their opportunity. With a horrendous crash the door was flung open and both of the big aliens charged into the room, eager for trouble.

  They got it, but not the kind they were expecting. The first Bhurt was no more than a long pace into the room when Kolchin's bola caught him squarely at the knees, the spinning weighted cords wrapping themselves instantly around his legs. He bellowed in rage, his forward momentum faltering as he flailed for balance.

  With Bhurtist muscle behind it, it took only half a second for him to snap the cords. But even as he did so, his fellow guard, already crowding too close behind him, caught the second bola around his legs and slammed into him.

  They hit the floor together, hard enough for Cavanagh to feel the vibration right through the stone, splattering the walls with a splash of floater-pad fluid. The enraged bellows took on a slight gurgling as their forward momentum sent them surfing helplessly through the slippery liquid to collide with the cot frame across the room.

  And as it came crashing down on top of them, Bronski fired his weighted wire directly into the overhead light fixture. There was a spatter of sparks as the wire made its connection to the power line - another spatter where the Bhurtala touched the cot frame -

  And then Bronski's hand was on Cavanagh's shoulder, shoving him around the still-quivering door and out of the room. Kolchin was already outside, looking back and forth along the corridor. "Clear," he said.

  "Won't be for long," Bronski grunted, pulling the door closed behind them and locking it. "Didn't get as good a contact as I'd hoped - they'll be up and making faces at the spy-eyes in a minute or two."

  "Then we'd better get going," Kolchin said. "Back out the way we came in?"

  "Probably our best bet," Bronski agreed. "You take point; let's go."

  "This is insane, Thrr-gilag," Second Commander Klnn-
vavgi said, his voice tight, his tail spinning hard. "Tell him that. It's insane."

  "He won't listen to me," Thrr-gilag said mechanically, his full attention on Pheylan Cavanagh and the catastrophic situation the Human's actions had now put them all in. Whatever Mnov-korthe had hoped to gain politically from his discovery of the illegal cutting, it would have been blown away like dust by the fact that they'd succeeded in rescuing Prr't-zevisti.

  But Pheylan Cavanagh hadn't understood that... and in his attempt to protect the cutting, he'd now sliced to shreds any hope of dealing with this matter quietly.

  "This is your fault, Searcher," Mnov-korthe said softly. The Human arm across his neck made his voice sound a little odd, but the rage beneath it came through with no trouble at all. "You're the one who took the illegal cutting; you're the one who brought this female Human-Conqueror here; you're the one who let this male Human-Conqueror escape from you in the first place. You're finished, Thrr-gilag; Kee'rr. You and your entire family."

  "You're not exactly helping the matter, either," Thrr-gilag told him, glancing at Klnn-dawan-a and Klnn-vavgi. Whatever happened, he had to keep both of them as far out of this as possible. There were probably legal limits as to what an agent of the Dhaa'rr could do to a Kee'rr. He doubted such limits existed for members of his own clan. "You're the one who ordered the warriors to shoot Melinda Cavanagh - "

  "She attacked me," Mnov-korthe snapped.

  "And you could probably resolve this right now by pledging not to harm either of them," Thrr-gilag snapped back.

  Mnov-korthe flicked the tip of his tongue in contempt. "I will make no such pledge," he said. "Not to enemies of the Zhirrzh."

  "Why, because Pheylan Cavanagh was able to grab you?" Thrr-gilag said with some contempt of his own. "Get it through your head, Mnov-korthe, that there are bigger things at risk here than your pride. Maybe even an end of the war."