Conquerors' Pride

by Timothy Zahn

  Teva took a deep and obviously painful breath. "Yes, sir," he gritted. "Good luck, sir."

  The screen blanked. "Any sign of Kolchin?" Cavanagh asked, putting the phone away.

  "Not yet," Hill said, throwing Cavanagh an odd look. "Sir, I'm not sure sending theCavatina away was a good idea."

  "I don't like it either," Cavanagh conceded. "But if they don't get off now, they might not get the chance. I've had a few minutes to think; and there's only one reason I can think of as to why those Bhurtala were at our elevators. They have to be working for the Mrachanis. Or rather, one group of Mrachanis."

  Hill frowned. "Passing over the whole question of their working for any non-Bhurt boss, I thought the Mrach hierarchy was pretty much monolithic."

  "That's what I've always heard, too," Cavanagh agreed. "But remember that visitor we had, the one who was worried about being caught talking to us? You'll notice he showed up and disappeared just ahead of the Bhurtala. Bhurtala who seemed anxious to keep any humans from leaving the area."

  "Which would put the Bhurtala and Bronski on different sides," Hill said slowly. "Unless they both work for the same people and just got their wires crossed."

  "That's a possibility," Cavanagh nodded, looking over at Fibbit. The Sanduul was pressed into deep shadow, probably somewhere between bewildered and terrified by all this. "Either way, the implication I get is that the man in Fibbit's threading is more important than anyone's letting on."

  "Whoever he is," Hill grunted. "Here comes Kolchin."

  "Good," Cavanagh said, beckoning to Fibbit. "Come on."

  The car pulled to the curb, and the three of them quickly piled in. "Any trouble?" Cavanagh asked as Kolchin pulled away and headed down the street.

  "None," the other said. "Whoever hired those Bhurtala seems to be a little slow on the uptake."

  So Kolchin was working on the same line of thought that Cavanagh was. "They might be, but Bronski isn't," he said. "He called theCavatina and ordered them to secure from launch prep."

  "And?"

  "And I ordered Teva to go ahead and lift."

  "I see," Kolchin said, his voice not giving anything away. "What about us?"

  "I'm not sure," Cavanagh conceded. "I was hoping you might have an idea where we might be able to buy ourselves a ship."

  He peered into the front seat in time to catch Kolchin's tight smile. "Actually, sir, I might be able to do a bit better than that. You remember I told you I was here once to advise the Mrachanis on urban warfare?"

  "Yes."

  "One of our recommendations was to stash some fighters and courier ships way out in mountain caves where they wouldn't be caught in whatever fighting happened over Mig-Ka and other cities. That way they wouldn't be caught completely without out-system communication capabilities."

  "Sounds like a good plan. You wouldn't happen to know where these ships are hidden, would you?"

  "As a matter of fact, we helped supervise their hiding," Kolchin said with a sort of grim satisfaction. "We'll be there in a couple of hours."

  Beside him Hill snorted gently. "Assuming the Mrachanis don't get their act together and come after us, of course."

  They reached a long-distance highway and turned onto it. "Yes," Kolchin said as they started toward the distant mountains, dark shapes against the pale predawn sky. "Always assuming that."

  15

  The tachyon wake-trails showed up on the pickup display at precisely one o'clock the next afternoon; and it was a tense ten minutes before the sensor chief was finally able to identify them.

  "You sure, Gasperi?" Holloway asked, frowning at the display. "That doesn't look like any fighter baseline I've ever seen."

  "It's fighters, all right, Colonel," Gasperi assured him. He touched a key, and six images appeared across the ident screen. "What threw me was that they're flying in a nonstandard formation," he said, fiddling with the controls. "Very close, with a partial overlap and interference cancellation in the baseline signatures. Watch as I bring them together."

  The images on the screen moved inward; and the corresponding baseline schematic rippled and convulsed into a copy of the one showing on the tachyon pickup. "Like that."

  "Makes for a much smaller footprint than a standard formation," Takara observed. "Harder for any snooping Conqueror scouts to pick up. Pretty fancy flying, though."

  "Fancy or stupid," Holloway agreed. "Any idea yet who they are?"

  "With that kind of formation?" Gasperi shrugged. "Have to be Copperheads. Corvines, probably."

  Takara looked at Holloway. "The rest of Commander Quinn's contingent?"

  "Probably," Holloway said. "What are we looking at, about an hour to mesh and another to groundfall?"

  "About that," Gasperi nodded.

  Holloway looked at his watch. Almost exactly the same time the skitter was due back from Edo, assuming the desk pilots there had been halfway efficient at pulling up Quinn's orders. Or the lack of them.

  Takara was obviously following the same line of thought. "Going to be close," he murmured. "You suppose he planned the timing deliberately?"

  "Probably depends on whether or not he's legitimate." And if he wasn't, Holloway very much wanted to read the interrogation record of someone who'd managed to beg, borrow, or steal a half squadron of Copperhead fighters. A man like that would have to be smart, devious, and extremely brazen.

  The sort of man who wouldn't leave anything to chance.

  He stepped over to a terminal and keyed for entry. "Something?" Takara asked.

  "A hunch," Holloway said, punching up a listing of the traffic into Dorcas since Melinda Cavanagh had come in with that private supply depot of hers. If they were pulling some con here, they almost certainly would have been smart enough to include a quiet backstop in their plans....

  And there he was, nestled in among the legitimate supply and logistics flights of the past few days. A small, private courier ship, with a single person aboard, logged in barely four hours behind Quinn and Aric Cavanagh. "What do we know about this one?" he asked Takara, indicating the entry.

  "Don't think there's anything special about him," Takara said, squinting at the screen. "He logged in just before I went off duty yesterday. Name's McPhee-forward man for a shipload of nonperishables that should be coming in sometime in the next couple of days. His ID and documents seemed legit enough."

  "He's with the Peacekeepers?"

  "No, he's a civilian," Takara shook his head. "Working directly out of-" He looked sharply at Holloway. "Out of the NorCoord Parliament."

  Holloway nodded sourly. "The same NorCoord Parliament our friend Lord Stewart Cavanagh served three terms in. Any bets on this being just some wild coincidence?"

  "Not from me," Takara said. "You know, Cass, we really don't have time for this."

  "Agreed. Unfortunately, we can't afford to ignore it, either."

  "So what do we do?"

  Holloway rubbed at his cheek. All right. Quinn and the Cavanaghs had a tanker and Counterpunch on the ground, with six Corvines on their way in. Highly visible, the whole bunch of them. Which meant that whatever sleight of hand was in the works, the silent backup would likely be the keystone to it. "We split them up," he said. "You were planning to take a survey team out to Site B soon, weren't you?"

  "I could head out anytime," Takara nodded. "You want me to take one of them along and keep him there for a couple of hours?"

  "You got it," Holloway said. "Make it McPhee-the others should be easier to keep track of."

  "What if he refuses to go?"

  Holloway cocked an eyebrow. "How can he? He's here to assist in preparations for an incoming supply shipment, isn't he? Well, then, he needs to see what we're doing at Site B."

  "Of course," Takara said dryly. "Silly of me."

  Holloway looked at the tachyon pickup. "Just be careful," he said quietly. "We don't know what they're up to or what stakes they're playing for. It could get messy."

  "Don't worry," Takara promised. "We're Peac
ekeepers, remember? We'll take care of him."

  With one final push the last of the ration boxes finally cleared the inner lip of the storage-compartment hatch. Trying to hold everything in place at once with one hand, Aric eased the rolling cover down across the compartment with the other. He held his breath; but this time, to his relief, the latch clicked shut without jamming. "I'm finished here," he called. "You need any help?"

  "No," Quinn's voice drifted in from somewhere in one of the fueler's other rooms. "I should be done in a minute, and Max can handle the check-through on his own. Why don't you go see how Dr. Cavanagh is doing."

  "Right," Aric grunted as he began working his way backward out of the galley storage alcove. Melinda had been right: stuff twelve more people in this fueler, and it was going to be real cozy. He could only hope that getting the fueler into zero-gee would make all these cramped spaces feel larger.

  Melinda was waiting on the ground by the time he reached the base of the fueler. "How's it going?" she asked.

  "It's all in," he told her. "And contrary to my original expectations, it all fits. You?"

  She nodded. "All the external compartments are loaded, and I've got the last fuel canister going in now. How's Quinn doing?"

  "Sounded like he was about finished loading the backup cells," Aric said. "All we'll have to do then is have Max fire up the electronics and make sure everything works. And we'll be ready to go." He looked up at the canvac barrier still shrouding one side of the fueler. "You check the paint job lately?"

  "About ten minutes ago. Still feels a little sticky."

  Awkward, but hardly surprising. They'd expected to be doing all this lettering and insignia work in orbit, and paints formulated for vacuum couldn't be expected to perform well in atmosphere. "Well, chances are we've still got a few hours before Dad and the Corvines show up. Maybe it'll be dry enough by then to get through the atmosphere without streaking."

  "I hope so," Melinda said, looking up at the fueler. "Personally, I think the sooner you get out of here, the better. I get the feeling that Colonel Holloway is still flipping a coin as to whether to simply ground the project and haul the three of us in for questioning."

  A motion across the parking field caught Aric's eye: a military groundcar had emerged from between two of the warehouses and was heading their way. "Looks like he may have finished his toss," he said, stepping to the intercom beside the base of the lift-cage track. "Quinn? We've got company. Peacekeeper car on its way."

  There was a moment of silence. "How many men in it?"

  Aric squinted. "Four, including the driver. Looks like Colonel Holloway's one of them."

  "I'll be down in a couple of minutes," Quinn said. "Play it by ear until I get there. Just remember that as far as they know, we're completely legitimate."

  "Right," Aric said, taking a deep breath. Like any other trade negotiation, he told himself firmly. That's all it was. Just a normal trade negotiation, with exceptionally high stakes.

  The car pulled to a halt beside them. "Good afternoon," Holloway said as he and two of the other men got out. "How's the loading going?"

  "We're just about finished," Aric told him, giving Holloway's two companions a surreptitious once-over. Big, competent-looking men, with Peacekeeper Marine insignia on their collars and big, no-nonsense handguns in quick-draw holsters at their sides. "Just need to finish transferring our fuel and run an electronics-and-sensor test and we'll be ready to go."

  "After the rest of your fighters get here, of course," Holloway said, looking up at the canvac barrier. "I take it you've finished your welding?"

  "We weren't doing any welding," Aric said, something in Holloway's tone warning him not to simply concur with the other's statement.

  "Didn't think it smelled like sealant primer," Holloway agreed calmly. "Whatwere you doing?"

  "There was some minor damage to one of the airfoil surfaces," Aric told him. "We replaced it and then repainted around it."

  "I see," Holloway said, his face not giving away whether he bought that or not. "I wonder if I might speak with Commander Quinn."

  "He's up in the snip," Aric told him. "He should be down in a few minutes."

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd ask him to come down now," Holloway said.

  Courteous phrasing, polite tone. An order nonetheless. "Certainly," Aric said, keying the intercom and relaying the message.

  A minute later Quinn had joined them. "Colonel," he nodded to Holloway. "What can I do for you?"

  "I just stopped by to tell you that the rest of your force is on its way into the system," Holloway said. "We're expecting them to mesh in at any minute. I thought you might like to use the relay in my car to give them any updated information or orders."

  Aric felt his lip twitch. The original plan had been to let the Corvines contact the Peacekeeper garrison as per standard approach procedure, and then to take over the communication from orbit, giving the fighters their instructions via a directional signal that the garrison's ground receivers wouldn't be able to pick up. With the fueler stuck on the surface instead, Quinn had warned him that such a scheme would be problematic at best. Clearly, Holloway wasn't going to allow them even that much of a chance at getting around him.

  "Thank you, sir," Quinn said, stepping past Holloway toward the car and accepting the microphone the driver handed him. "This is Commander Quinn."

  "Stand by, Commander," a voice said. "We've just made contact with the Corvines." There was a click-

  "Copperhead Task Force Omicron Four to Dorcas ground control," a new voice said crisply. "This is Commander Thomas Masefield. Request permission to speak with Wing Commander Adam Quinn."

  "This is Wing Commander Quinn," Quinn said. "Welcome to Dorcas, Commander."

  "Thank you, sir. Have you any updated orders for us?"

  "No new orders, but the rendezvous schedule's been altered a bit," Quinn said. "You'll need to get an orbit insertion vector from ground control and come in."

  There was a short silence. "I understood we were in something of a hurry, sir," Masefield said.

  "We are," Quinn agreed. "But we're waiting on one more arrival. I'm hoping he'll be here in time for us to meet you in orbit; if not, you'll have to come all the way down."

  "Acknowledged, sir. Reading about forty-five minutes to orbit from here, sixty minutes to ground."

  "Good. Carry on, and we'll see you shortly."

  "Yes, sir. Copperhead Omicron Four out."

  Quinn clicked off the mike and handed it back to the driver. "Thank you, Colonel," he nodded to Holloway. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

  "As a matter of fact, there was," Holloway said, taking the mike again from the driver and flicking it back on. "Lieutenant Gasperi? Report on the incoming skitter."

  "We've got a firm track on it now, Colonel," a voice came. "Getting data transmission."

  "Good. Stand by." Holloway looked at Quinn. "It's a skitter from Edo, Commander, in case you were wondering. We sent a confirmation inquiry to the Peacekeeper base there about your assignment authorization number."

  Carefully, Aric avoided looking at either of the others. Melinda had warned them when they'd first arrived that Holloway was suspicious of the story she'd spun for him. But they'd dismissed her fears, knowing full well that there wouldn't be time for him to get a skitter to Earth and back before they would all be gone from Dorcas. The possibility that Holloway would focus instead on the mission's authorization number-and thereby cut twenty hours out of the round-trip loop-had somehow never occurred to him.

  Which made it polished-plate clear why this sudden burst of cooperation and courtesy on Holloway's part. He'd called their bluff; and now that the blade was on its way down, he intended to be in on the kill personally.

  Casually, Aric threw a glance at the two Marines. They were between the group and the fueler, standing well apart, their hands resting casually on their holstered guns.

  "Colonel?"

  Holloway lifted the mike. "Go ahead, Lieutena
nt."

  "Data transmission from Edo," Gasperi said. "Quote: Regarding your inquiry, Peacekeeper AAN 67424955/MSC Foxtrot Lima Victor Victor. Copperhead Fighter Unit Omicron Four assigned to Reserve Wing Commander Iniko Bokamba for unspecified patrol mission. Transfer via Dorcas. AAN confirmed, 4/7/03, 15:07:39 LMT, Station 33, Peacekeeper Command Processing Center, Edo. Unquote."

  "I see," Holloway said. "No mention of Commander Quinn?"

  "No, sir. But there's an addendum that says there was a private communication attached for Omicron Four's commander. Edo doesn't have a copy of that."