by Timothy Zahn
"Ah," Thrr't-rokik said, nodding his understanding. "Human-Conqueror language lessons."
"Very good," the Elder said sarcastically. "At least you're not stupid, just ignorant. Hopefully, that's something we can fix over the next few fullarcs." The Elder jabbed imperiously with his tongue. "Well, don't just float there, get going. And hope the language instructor doesn't give you a reprimand for tardiness."
"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said, flicking past him.
And hope too, he added to himself, that no one would take the trouble to count the Elders present and compare it with the number of fsss cuttings on this observer pyramid. If they did, he was going to be in trouble. If they didn't, he might just be able to pull this off.
Either way, it was definitely going to be an interesting voyage.
"Sir?"
Parlimin Jacy VanDiver looked up impatiently from his perusal of the latest batch of Peacekeeper troop movements. How was he ever going to keep up with all this if he kept getting interrupted every five minutes? "What is it, Peters?" he snapped.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," the young aide said, stammering slightly. "But a priority message just came for you by skitter from Mr. McPhee." He started to offer the plate, hesitated. "Shall I summarize it for you, sir?"
The kid was learning, anyway. Slowly, like a brain-damaged slug, but learning. "Make it quick," VanDiver said, dropping his attention back to the Peacekeeper report. McPhee was a time waster, too, always sending reports whether he had anything to say or not. Odds were this was one of those.
"Yes, sir," Peters said. "Mr. McPhee reports that he's tracked Assistant Commonwealth Liaison Petr Bronski to Puerto Simone Island on Granparra. There he observed Bronski with two men, tentatively identified as Lord Stewart Cavanagh and - "
VanDiver snapped his eyes up again, the troop movements abruptly forgotten. "Cavanagh?"
"Yes, sir," Peters said, sounding even more nervous. "Lord Cavanagh and a Mr. Mitri Kolchin - "
"Give me that," VanDiver cut him off, gesturing for the plate.
"Yes, sir," Peters said, hastily stepping forward and handing it to him.
Quickly, VanDiver skimmed the report. It was Cavanagh and Kolchin, all right; the brief long-range video McPhee had included with the report left no doubt about it. Acting all chummy, too, the three of them heading into a small spaceship together. According to McPhee, they were heading next for Mra; McPhee planned to follow.
"I knew it," he said, glaring up at Peters. "Bronski's in this with Cavanagh. In it up to his neck."
"Yes, sir," Peters said. "Speaking of Bronski, sir, I've finished that background report you requested."
"And?"
Peters shrugged fractionally. "Nothing of particular interest. A native of Ukraine, he's apparently been working for various diplomatic and conciliation services since leaving school. According to his file, he joined the Commonwealth diplomatic service in 2282 and has spent the past twenty-one years working his way up to his present position."
"Military service?"
"None listed." Peters hesitated. "Though one thing that struck me as odd, sir. He's listed as joining the Unified Centaurian Civil Diplomatic Corps midway through the Pawolian war. He served with them for twelve years, with assignments that took him all over the Commonwealth and several alien worlds."
"What of it?"
"Well, sir, I did some checking," Peters said. "Apparently the CiDi Corps has always been strictly for Centaurian citizens. No non-Centaurians were ever allowed in."
"Again, what of it?" VanDiver asked. "Bronski probably had dual citizenship during that period. That wasn't uncommon."
"Yes, sir, I realize that," Peters nodded. "But I did some checking, and about two months before he entered the CiDi Corps, the Ukraine government instituted a one hundred percent military training program for all Ukrainian citizens aged nineteen through twenty-five. The Pawoles had been driving the Commonwealth forces back, and Ukraine wanted their citizens ready to fight in case there was an invasion of Earth."
"Other nations and colonies did that, too," VanDiver said. "If you have a point, get to it."
Peters seemed to brace himself. "The point, sir, is that there's no record that Bronski ever participated in the program, even though he was within the age bracket. The only way for him to have gotten out of it would have been to renounce his Ukrainian citizenship; but there's also no record of him doing that."
"Sounds like someone in high places was doing a little path-greasing for him," VanDiver said, feeling his lip twist in contempt. If there was one thing he hated about the upper crust, it was precisely this casual buying and selling of favors. "Was his family close with any of the NorCoord leaders at that time?"
"There's no mention of anything like that," Peters said. "I could do a little digging, though."
"Get to it," VanDiver ordered. "But first give the Edo Central spaceport a call and have my ship prepared for departure."
"Yes, sir," Peters said with a nod. "Are you going back to Earth?"
"No," VanDiver said. "I'm going to Mra."
Peters blinked. "Mra?"
VanDiver gestured to Peters's plate. "According to McPhee, Bronski and Cavanagh are going to Mra. Whatever they're up to, I want to catch them red-handed at it."
"But, sir...," Peters floundered. "Aren't you needed in Parliament?"
"What for?" VanDiver retorted. "Parliament hasn't got any real business at the moment. Peacekeeper Command is running the show - all they need us for is to clear away the legal underbrush and dispense little inspirational homilies to the masses. They hardly need me there for that."
"Yes, sir," Peters said. "But shouldn't you at least requisition a Peacekeeper warship? You never know where the Zhirrzh will attack next."
"The Zhirrzh can't attack anywhere without giving a couple hours' notice that they're coming," VanDiver said. "Anyway, if this unknown guardian angel of Bronski's is still active in Ukrainian politics, requisitioning a Peacekeeper ship for Mra would be a sure way of tipping him off. I have no intention of standing by while someone slathers official paint over this thing."
"But what about your own personal safety?" Peters persisted. "Only this past week there was a directive from NorCoord Military Intelligence cautioning parliamentary personnel in any dealings with the Mrachanis."
"Military Intelligence is always issuing directives like that," VanDiver growled. "They haven't got anything new on the Zhirrzh, so this is how they try to convince us they're earning their budget."
He waved a hand impatiently. "What am I arguing this with you for, anyway? Get that call in to the spaceport, then get a message out on the next skitter to Mra telling McPhee I'm on my way."
Peters still didn't look happy, but he nevertheless nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. Turning, he left the office.
Idiot, VanDiver thought after the other. That was all he seemed to be surrounded by these days. Idiots like Peters, who submitted incomplete reports and then had the temerity to argue decisions with him. Idiots like McPhee, who apparently hadn't even been able to locate Bronski on Puerto Simone Island until he was ready to leave the place. Five minutes more, and he'd have missed them completely.
Still, sometimes two half-wits could add together to do something right. VanDiver still didn't have all the pieces, but he had enough of them.
He ran the video portion of McPhee's report again. Cavanagh was in the lead as they headed into Bronski's ship, with Kolchin behind him and Bronski bringing up the rear. Definitely looking all chummy. Kolchin even had his hands clasped casually behind his back....
VanDiver jabbed the freeze button, frowning suddenly at the image. Kolchin's hands behind his back... and a brief glint of metal.
Wristcuffs?
For a minute he fiddled with the plate's enlargement/enhancement controls, trying to get a clear view of that section of the image. But McPhee had already pushed his equipment to the limit in getting the video, and none of the enhancements did any good. More sophisticated equipment m
ight be able to glean something out of the tape; but that would take time, and time wasn't something VanDiver had to spare at the moment.
Besides, it didn't really matter. Cavanagh and Bronski were up to something - that much was a given. If Kolchin was in wristcuffs, it meant only that he wasn't voluntarily going along with the scheme. Or else the wristcuffs were just for show. Either way, they could sort it out at the trial.
Lord Stewart Cavanagh on trial. What a lovely thought.
Smiling tightly, VanDiver pulled out his phone. There were a hundred trifling matters to be disposed of before he could leave for Mra.
15
"As you can see, Commander, they really didn't leave us much to study," Engineer Lieutenant Alex Williams commented as the group entered the last hexagon of the abandoned Zhirrzh base. Like most of the rest of the rooms, this one had been pretty much stripped down to the walls. "The good news is the buildings themselves," Williams continued. "The analysis team says the material is very similar to the ceramic the Conquerors use in their warship hulls. Thinner, of course."
"That could be useful," Pheylan agreed, looking around and trying to ignore the eerie sensation tingling through him. It had been barely fifteen days since Aric and Quinn and the Copperheads had pulled him out of this place, unconscious, with a dose of Zhirrzh tongue poison in his bloodstream. Hardly enough time even for his metabolism to recover from the poison and the alien food his captors had fed him; and yet, here he was, back on the same world.
Facing once again the memories of his imprisonment. And the memories of the crushing Peacekeeper defeat that had put him there.
"Commander?"
Pheylan snapped out of the painful musings, focusing on the third member of their party. Colonel Helene Pemberton, if he'd gotten the introductions right, a fiftyish woman with dark hair, piercing gray eyes, and a slight Confederate accent. The colonel had been waiting with Williams when Pheylan had landed and had tagged silently along with them during the tour. "I'm sorry, Colonel," he said. "Did you say something?"
"Not yet," she said, her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. "As long as I have your attention, though, did you ever see any of this area while you were here?"
"No," Pheylan said, shaking his head. "I saw my cell room - that was the room with the big glass cylinder in the middle - and some of the areas outside. They never showed me anything else."
"I see," she said. "Carry on, Lieutenant."
"That's about it, actually," the engineer said, waving around the room. "Except for the impressions in the ground where the pyramid and domes you mentioned were sitting. And, of course, the fence."
"Yes, Thrr-gilag mentioned an outer fence," Pheylan said. "Where exactly is it?"
"About half a klick out," Williams said, waving a hand in a general sweep around them. "It's made of a fine mesh, extends a couple of meters up and another couple underground. Basically the same design of fence that was around that other pyramid your brother looked at while he and the Copperheads were out looking for you."
"You never saw the fence here?" Pemberton asked.
"No," Pheylan said. "Though there was a path leading from the landing field away through the trees. I assume it led there."
"Yes, it does," Williams confirmed. "You want to go take a look?"
"Sure," Pheylan said, though he couldn't imagine what good it would do. He wasn't exactly a materials expert, after all.
For that matter he wasn't anything that could make much of a difference to this investigation. He'd been sent here to catch what other, inexperienced eyes might miss, Admiral Rudzinski had said; but from what he'd seen so far, there was precious little left for anyone to look at, experienced or otherwise.
They headed out onto the landing field. The sky had clouded up while they'd been inside, and the stifif breeze had turned chilly. "Unfortunately, the Zhirrzh had plenty of time to pack up everything and get it out of here," Williams commented as he led the way toward the path, the red dust scrunching underfoot. "About ninety hours, I understand, before the Peacekeeper assault force could get here."
"Yes, we worried about that time lag on the way back," Pheylan agreed. "There was some discussion about whether we ought to go to Dorcas instead of heading directly to Edo. Peacekeeper warships starting from there could have lopped about thirty-five hours off the turnaround time."
"Why didn't you?"
"We decided it was too big a gamble," Pheylan said, forcing down the hard lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Melinda had been on Dorcas when the Zhirrzh had attacked. "There hadn't been any warships there when we'd left, and no guarantee that would have changed. Besides, we were low enough on fuel that if we diverted to Dorcas, we wouldn't have had enough to continue on to Edo."
"Good thing you didn't stop," Pemberton said soberly. "You wouldn't have found anything at Dorcas but Zhirrzh and Zhirrzh warships."
"Yes," Pheylan murmured, Melinda's face hovering before his eyes. "A good thing, indeed."
They reached the path, and Williams led the way onto it. Pheylan followed, his chest aching with the memory of how he'd manipulated his captors into triggering the magnets of his obedience suit at this spot. Slammed flat on his face on the ground, he'd used the distraction to covertly pick up one of the sharp pieces of flint that were still scattered around the edges of the path.
A piece of flint that he'd successfully smuggled back to his cell... and that had been suddenly discovered hours later by the Zhirrzh. He still didn't know how they'd pulled that one off.
The trees were pretty much as Pheylan remembered them: tall gray-green objects, which didn't look anything like the trees he'd grown up with but which obviously filled that same ecological niche. Walking along a path surrounded by them, however, he realized for the first time that they also put out a distinctive and not entirely pleasant odor. "Interesting aroma," he commented. "Smells like an annoyed Avuire."
"Actually, it's more like an Avuire greeting friends after a long absence," Pemberton corrected absently. "Annoyed Avuirli smell entirely different."
"Ah," Pheylan said, stifling a smile. He'd meant the comment to be more facetious than anything else. He considered pointing that out, decided the colonel probably wouldn't appreciate it, and kept silent.
A few minutes later they emerged from the trees. Five meters ahead, stretching out to both sides in front of them, was the fence.
"That's it," Williams said. "What do you think?"
"Impressive," Pheylan said, looking up and down the fence as he stepped toward it for a closer look. "Goes all around the encampment, you said?"
"Right," the engineer said. "Obviously a defense of some sort."
"Obviously," Pheylan agreed. The strands that made up the mesh were slender, composed of a silvery yet vaguely translucent material that reminded him of glass. "Was it electrified?"
"Nope," Williams said, poking at one of the mesh strands with the tip of a knife. "The material's not even conductive. Some kind of high-tensile ceramic material, really strong. We're still doing measurements on it."
Pheylan looked along the fence, shading his eyes with one hand as the sun winked out of the clouds. "What kind of supports does it have?"
"None that we've been able to find," Williams said. "Apparently, the engineering design of the mesh plus the section underground is enough to hold it upright. Oh, and there's no gate, either, at least none we could find. Looks like the Zhirrzh don't go in for evening strolls."
"The question, of course," Pemberton spoke up, "is what the Zhirrzh were expecting it to protect them against. Certainly not any kind of weapons attack."
"Thrr-gilag implied it was here to keep animals out of the compound," Pheylan said, fingering the mesh. The strands were very smooth.
"That's a pretty tight mesh for keeping out tigers," Williams commented. "You'd think they were terrified of squirrels, too."
"Maybe they're not the ones it was here to protect," Pheylan said, letting his hand drop to his side. "Maybe it was to gu
ard the pyramid."
"Why do you say that?" Pemberton asked.
"Well, we know the pyramid was very important to them," Pheylan said. "Three Zhirrzh came bounding out of the domes and pointed nasty-looking sticks at me when I tried to get too close to it. And it was right after that incident that Svv-selic was replaced as interrogation spokesman by Thrr-gilag."
"What do you think the pyramid's significance is?" Pemberton asked.
"I really don't know," Pheylan said. "I came up with all sorts of crazy ideas, but, of course, I never got close enough to see those sausage slices Aric told me were in the niches in the one the Copperheads found."
"Which doesn't necessarily mean this pyramid had the same sausage slices," Pemberton pointed out. "Or that it even had the same purpose. The Zhirrzh may simply like pyramids."
Pheylan shrugged. "Maybe. On the other hand, they build their ships and buildings out of hexagons."
"So why use pyramids for these other structures?" Pemberton asked.
How the hell should I know? With an effort Pheylan bit down on the retort. Wild hunches and educated guesses were why he was there, after all. "Historical reasons, maybe," he suggested. "Maybe there's a long tradition behind the pyramid design for these things and they want to stay with it. Or maybe they're deliberately designed to look different from other kinds of structures."
"For what reason?" Pemberton asked.
"A warning to strangers to stay away, maybe," Pheylan said. "A warning to other Zhirrzh, even - there could easily be subtle markings on the pyramids we humans wouldn't immediately pick up on."
"Perhaps," Pemberton said. "Anything else?"
Pheylan grimaced. Wild hunches... "Or else the shape is purely functional," he said. "Maybe the pyramids are electronic devices. Or weapons."
"What kind of weapons?" Pemberton asked.
Pheylan glanced at Williams. The engineer seemed to have dropped out of this part of the conversation. "Well, I suppose it sounds crazy now, but for a while I wondered if it could be a component for a CIRCE-type weapon."