by Timothy Zahn
"I'm done," Bronski said mildly. Reaching to the box, he touched the release-
And the box popped open.
Cavanagh exhaled a long breath. "Was it booby-trapped?"
"Six ways from April," Bronski confirmed, peering into the box and pulling out three cards. "Let's see what we've got here...."
He slid one of the cards into his plate and spent a few minutes scrolling through various parts. "Interesting reading?" Cavanagh asked.
"Somewhat," Bronski said, pulling the card out and replacing it with the second. "That one was a list of dossiers on about fifty retired Peacekeeper officers of your acquaintance, along with complete data on their current homes. And I meancomplete data: climate and terrain profiles, macro- and microcultural information listings, city and sector maps-the whole list. Must be a whole lot of Mrachanis scattered around the Commonwealth waiting for you to show up. Probably with a lot of Bhurtala to keep them company."
"I'd wondered how they managed to pinpoint Granparra," Kolchin murmured. "I guess they didn't."
"No, this group was just the lucky one," Bronski said, studying his plate. "Or not, depending on your point of view. Well, well. This one looks like a complete breakdown of CavTronics Industries, including listings for all manufacturing plants, R-and-D stations, sales outlets, and transport vessels. Plus dossiers on all your top management personnel."
Cavanagh swallowed hard. If he and Kolchin had followed their original plan of going directly home to Avon... "They must want me pretty bad."
"It's starting to look that way," Bronski agreed, inserting the third card into his plate. "You know, Cavanagh, I didn't put much stock in that Mrach conspiracy theory you spun for me on the way from Phormbi to Mra-mig. That whole idea of a quiet Mrach war against the rest of the universe sounded too much like a Yycroman smoke screen. But I'll admit it's starting to look more and more like the little furballs are sneakier than they like to appear...."
He trailed off, his forehead wrinkling as he frowned at the plate. "What is it?" Cavanagh asked.
"It's some kind of update," Bronski said, his voice suddenly tight. "Projected timetables for two operations.Mirnacheem-hyeea One andMirnacheem-hyeea Two."
A cold knot formed in Cavanagh's stomach. "That's the Mrach name for the Conquerors," he said. "Or at least that's where we got the name Conquerors from."
"Yeah, I know," Bronski said, still frowning.
"Where are they supposed to take place?" Kolchin asked.
"The locations are coded," Bronski said. "Looks like they both have the same jump-off point, though, somewhere in Mrach space. Wait a second."
For a minute he was silent, doing something with the plate's keys. "Yes," he said at last. "Still don't have the endpoints; but if I'm reading this right, I've got a transit time from jump-off to end point forMirnacheem-hyeea One. Assuming we're talking standard stardrive speed and not skitters... the end point has to be in either Mrach or Yycroman space."
Cavanagh looked at Kolchin. "I'll be damned. They're going to attack the Yycromae."
"No,they're not," Kolchin said. "It's theMirnacheem-hyeea operation, remember? They're going to get the Conquerors to attack the Yycromae for them."
"How on Earth are they going to do that?" Cavanagh objected. "How could they even be in contact with the Conquerors?"
"There was a Mrach ship at the Conqueror base when Quinn and his bunch rescued your son Pheylan," Bronski said thoughtfully. "It was damaged, but it was there."
"Any sign of live Mrachanis?" Kolchin asked.
"They didn't see any," Bronski said. "But that might not have been necessary. We know the Conquerors have learned English; the Mrachanis might have planted data aboard that identified the Yycromae as a threat and persuaded them to launch an attack."
"With a complete timetable included?" Kolchin asked.
Bronski grimaced. "Yeah, there's that," he conceded.
"There's another possibility," Cavanagh said slowly. "The termMirnacheem-hyeea also applies to humans-it was what the Mrachanis first called us after the Peacekeepers made contact with them. Maybe they've found a way to manipulate the Peacekeepers into attacking the Yycromae."
Bronski stroked his lip thoughtfully. "Could be. Wouldn't take all that hard a push, either."
"Not after all the paranoia they've cultivated toward the Yycromae over the years," Cavanagh said. "And not with the access to Peacekeeper information sources the Mrachanis seem to have."
"That last part's been changed, anyway," Bronski said. "I've put through an order cutting the Mrachanis out of all Peacekeeper information lines."
Cavanagh frowned. "I thought you didn't put any stock in my theories."
"I didn't," Bronski said. "That was their punishment for kidnapping and drugging that journalist, Ezer Sholom."
He closed the plate and leaned back in his seat, regarding his prisoners with an unreadable expression. "Well, gentlemen, I've got a problem here," he said. "I can get Myrmidon to send skitters to Earth and Edo with the alert; but what we really need right now is more information. For that someone's going to have to go to Mra and do some snooping. As head of NorCoord Intelligence for Mrach space, that's my job. The problem is what to do with you two."
"I thought you were planning to drop us into a deep hole somewhere," Cavanagh said.
"Oh, I am," Bronski said. "The problem is timing. If I'm reading this right, the jump-off time for the Conquerors One operation is only about forty-nine hours away. This ship is skitter-class, which helps, but from here to Mra and back to Edo will still eat up better than sixteen hours. Figure another twenty-five for Edo to get ships wherever the hell they'll have to go to stop this, and I'm left with only eight hours for actual snooping. That's not a lot of time. If I have to stop first and drop you two off on Mra-ect, I'll have even less. I could leave you here on the Myrmidon Platform; but they haven't got a secure quarantine area, and leaving you with anyone who doesn't know what you know kind of defeats the whole purpose of the quarantine."
"You could let us go," Cavanagh suggested. "I've already given my word we won't say anything."
"And that you won't be coerced into saying anything?" Bronski shook his head. "You know I can't risk that. Not with all these Mrachanis and Bhurtala looking for you. We already saw with Sholom what they're willing to do for information; and wecannot let them get even a hint that CIRCE doesn't exist. No, what I really want is to keep you with me. But I can't do that and watch my back at the same time." He folded his arms across his chest. "The ball's on your side of the net, Lord Cavanagh. Convince me you can be trusted."
Cavanagh lowered his eyes, suddenly misted with tears. Yes, there was indeed something he could say. The ultimate, unbreakable vow... "I swear on the soul of my beloved wife, Sara," he said quietly, the words aching in his throat. "We won't try to escape."
He looked up to find Bronski gazing back at him, something that might be sympathy behind the brigadier's eyes. "I guess that's what I wanted to hear," he said. His wrist flicked; automatically, Cavanagh opened his hand to catch the wristcuff key. "Get yourselves unlocked, then join me in the control room," Bronski told him, shoving the Mrach card carrier into a storage locker and standing up. "I'm going to get the prelaunch started."
Cavanagh hesitated. "Brigadier?"
Bronski paused at the door. "What?"
"I don't know if it's occurred to you," Cavanagh said, "but it's possible the Mrachanis already learned about CIRCE from Ezer Sholom before we found him. If they are in contact with the Conquerors, and if they tell them CIRCE doesn't exist..."
"Then we're in trouble," Bronski agreed. "Let's go to Mra and see if we can find out."
14
The landing field was small but crowded, with hundreds of Zhirrzh working busily in and around the twenty-odd ships of various sizes and configurations preparing for their turn to lift into the sky. Loading vehicles wove their way through the crowds, bringing supplies and armaments and fuel to the ships; floaters carried crew members, techni
cs, and at least one overelaborately dressed Zhirrzh who appeared to be a Dhaa'rr-clan leader on an inspection tour. Over and through everything fluttered the usual cloud of Elders, flickering in and out like dusk-glow insects as they brought messages to and from everyone in sight.
Casually, methodically, Thrr't-rokik wove in and out of the ships along with them, giving each person he passed a quick but careful look, fighting against a growing taste of hopelessness. The long trail had led here, to that transport sitting out in the parking area; but he'd been searching for nearly twenty hunbeats now and had found no sign of the two Zhirrzh. Perhaps they hadn't come onto the landing field, or perhaps they had already left on a spaceship or another transport. Or perhaps they had never been there at all. Perhaps they weren't even the ones using that particular transport anymore. He and Thrr-tulkoj might be on the wrong trail entirely-
And then, suddenly, there they were, walking up a landing ramp into the next ship over, warrior-style travel bags slung over their shoulders.
Thrr't-rokik was inside the entry hatchway in the flick of a beat, easing his face out through the ceramic hull for a closer look. It was them, all right: the two Zhirrzh he'd seen delivering Thrr-pifix-a's stolenfsss organ to her house on that fateful latearc six fullarcs ago.
The taller of the two spotted Thrr't-rokik as they reached the top of the ramp. "You-Elder-go tell the ship commander his passengers are here," he ordered.
"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 theWilling 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 hedid 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 theWilling 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. Iknew 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 myfsss cutting on that ship."
Thrr-tulkoj's midlight pupils contracted to slits. "Are you insane?" he hissed.
"Probably," Thrr't-ro
kik 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 theWilling 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."