by Timothy Zahn
In the distance off to starboard the Zhirrzh ship seemed suddenly to have become fully aware of Quinn's presence, and the space around them began to shimmer with the ionization afterglow of laser shots. Most skimmed harmlessly past as Quinn kept the fighter dipping and swerving in a semirandom evasion pattern. One caught one of Savazzci's screening ships, turning it into a blazing fireball.
"We are doing our job," the stiff-sounding retort came. "We aren't swift enough to catch them. We protect you in the hope that you can do so."
Quinn grimaced, dropping an extrapolation overlay on top of the vector map. The Corvine's dead dorsal engine plus the hefty lead the laser bombers had on them...
We can do it, Bokamba told him. A drop-J curve through the atmosphere will get us to an intercept point.
Quinn studied the curve that had appeared on his extrapolation overlay. It was a tricky maneuver, all right, a modified version of the approach he'd used when he and Aric Cavanagh had dived down from near orbit to snatch Pheylan from his Zhirrzh captors.
But in that situation he'd been flying an undamaged fighter through skies unpunctuated by heavy enemy fire. Here pulling such a stunt would be begging for gradient instabilities or turbulent control loss. There was probably no better than a fifty percent chance that they would make it to the rendezvous point ahead of the Zhirrzh.
What was certain was that committing themselves to the attempt would mean abandoning any chance of rescuing Dreamer and Con Lady.
Bokamba knew that, too, and for a moment his sense was tangled in an agony of indecision and guilt. But only for a moment. We have no choice, the tail said, his mental tone heavy but determined. Let's do it.
Right, Quinn acknowledged as an updated version of the drop-J curve appeared on the overlay. Bracing himself for another ninety-degree turn, he prepared to flip the Corvine over -
And then, without warning, a double blaze of blue-white fire flashed into sight over the planet's horizon directly ahead.
Incoming spacecraft! Bokamba snapped out the warning. New vectors appeared on Quinn's overlay: the two spacecraft were coming up incredibly fast over the curve of the planet, skimming the top of the atmosphere, the extrapolation indicating an ETA to the main battle of barely five minutes. Quinn keyed in full magnification -
And felt his breath catch in his throat. To the unaided eye the approaching spacecraft were little more than dark blotches against the ragged-edged corona of their drive trails, but as the Corvine's optics edited out the glare, he could see the splashes of lights across their dark surfaces and the strangely curved edges glowing with an eerie luminescence. Images from the military history texts; images that supposedly no longer existed.
Yycroman Vindicator-class warships.
Quinn found his voice again. "Savazzci, this is Three Omicron Four."
"They have come," the Yycroma's reply came through the Mindlink into Quinn's mind. Not with any trace of joy or relief, but with the grim satisfaction of a Yycroman male who has seen the time for vengeance finally at hand. "Now shall we see."
The lights on one of the Vindicators dimmed, and the slender blue beams of particle-beam weapons lanced out toward the three Zhirrzh laser bombers diving ever deeper into the atmosphere. But too far ahead: the beams sliced through the air ahead of them for a clean miss -
And then, abruptly, the blue lines were sheathed with an explosive and expanding swirl of furious white turbulence. The beams, flash-ionizing the tenuous upper atmosphere, had created an instant hurricane.
The Zhirrzh laser bombers were caught flat-footed. Their mad race planetward floundered as the shock wave of superheated air slammed across their bows. Before they could recover, the second Vindicator fired, this shot sizzling past their starboard flank.
Charging toward the main battle like a pair of enraged bears, the warships were already out of range for a third shot. But it didn't matter. They'd slowed the laser bombers' descent just enough... and Quinn, whose years with Lord Cavanagh had taught him how to appreciate a dramatic entrance, also knew a cue when he saw one.
He had the Corvine in a vertical dive even before the second Yycroman shot had been fired; was scorching the fighter's hull with friction before the laser bombers finished their bouncing. By the time they'd settled down and were again throwing power to their drives, he'd started into his main curve.
Before they could do anything else, he was right on top of them.
" 'We have no idea,' " the Elder quoted, stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. " 'But the description doesn't sound like that of any Human-Conqueror warship we've yet seen.' "
"I could have told you that," Supreme Commander Prm-jevev snarled under his breath as he gazed at the patches of blue-white flame charging toward him. Yycroman, without a doubt. And armed with weapons the like of which he also had never seen.
And apparently left deliberately out of the battle until this exact beat. Why?
The answer was obvious. The Human-Conquerors and their Yycroman allies weren't fooled by the impervious Zhirrzh hulls - not a bit. They knew perfectly well how much internal shock damage their missiles were causing... and everything they'd done up until this point had clearly been for the sole purpose of softening their defenses so that these two ships could get in close.
Close enough to use their blue-beamed weapon. An unidentified, hitherto unseen weapon.
CIRCE?
There was a faint flash of distant light on one of the telescope displays. The heavy air-assault craft, their crews dazed or stunned, being destroyed by the single Human-Conqueror fighter warcraft that had followed them down. More good warriors being prematurely raised to Eldership.
Another Elder appeared. " 'Supreme Commander, this is Speaker Cvv-panav,' " he said. " 'These are nothing more than part of the Yycroman war fleet the Mrachanis warned us about. Hold your territory, and they'll break over you.' "
Prm-jevev flicked his tongue in vicious contempt. Here he was in the boiling cauldron of combat, facing Eldership for himself and every one of his warriors and technics, and all Speaker Cvv-panav could do was waste his time with pretentious political banalities. "It may not be that easy, Speaker," he bit out. "Not if that weapon is what I think it might be."
" 'Don't be ridiculous,' " the Speaker's scoffing reply came back a few beats later. " 'Hold your courage, Supreme Commander - this is no time to fall apart on us.' "
Prm-jevev flicked his tongue savagely. It was also no time to face a weapon like CIRCE. Not here, with a fleet that had already been battered halfway to uselessness. Certainly not on the Human-Conquerors' terms and timing.
But how could he call a retreat? Especially when none of the Elders who would be judging his actions even knew of CIRCE's existence?
Another Elder appeared. " 'Supreme Commander Prm-jevev, this is the Overclan Prime,' " he said. " 'You are hereby ordered to withdraw.' "
Prm-jevev felt his midlight pupils narrow in surprise. What in the eighteen worlds - ?
And then he got it. The Overclan Prime had listened between the words and understood the full scope of Prm-jevev's suspicions and fears. By ordering Prm-jevev to retreat from what looked to be an imminent victory, he was taking on himself the public scorn and political repercussions that would follow this defeat.
On the telescope display, the last of the heavy air-assault craft flashed into vapor... and with it went their last reason to stay. "I obey, Overclan Prime," he acknowledged. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the Elders grouped around him. "Supreme Commander Prm-jevev to all ships," he called. "Break off your attacks and retreat."
The laser bombers saw the Corvine coming, of course. But there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. At close-combat range the faint flickers of light that preceded each laser shot were easily visible, and even with one dead engine Quinn was able to avoid their shots with ease. Between the 55 mm cannon and one of his three remaining missiles, it was over in seconds.
Weaving around the expanding clouds of debris, he t
urned the Corvine's nose upward again... and for the first time since the Vindicators' sudden appearance, he turned his attention back to the main battle.
To find that it was over.
He stared in disbelief. There was the Trafalgar, looking half-dead but still limping gamely along. There was the fleet, or at least what was left of it. There were the two Vindicators, their drive coronas now flaming violently in the opposite direction as they attempted to brake from their mad charge.
But the Zhirrzh ships had turned and were driving away from the planet. Even as he watched, they meshed out and were gone.
What in the world? Bokamba said, clearly as surprised as Quinn was.
I don't know, Quinn said. They just gave up.
But they were winning, Bokamba protested.
I know.
Well, let Montgomery and the others figure it out, Bokamba said. We've got to get back to Dreamer and Con Lady.
Right. Quinn curved the Corvine back around, searching for the women's fighter.
To find it little more than a blur, its shape all but smothered by the roiling air turbulence around it. Like a sleek metal meteoroid, it was heading toward a spectacular and fiery death.
He threw full power to the engines, feeling Bokamba's sudden surge of guilt as both men were slammed back into their seats. A flood of warmth hit his face and chest, the intensity increasing as air friction began heating the Corvine's already overstressed hull toward the danger point. Behind him he could sense Bokamba trying furiously to coax more power out of the engines, all the time fully and bitterly aware that they weren't going to make it....
And then, suddenly, a spurt of maneuvering flame erupted barely a klick from the women's Corvine. A shadowy ship, visible only through the air turbulence sheathing it, was closing fast on the stricken fighter.
It's a sensor-stealthed ship, Bokamba said, his relief bubbling almost visibly. Probably one of the Trafalgar's watchships.
Quinn held his breath, ignoring the heat now burningly hot on his skin. The chase ship was nearly to the fighter... the two masses of turbulence merged...
And abruptly the shape and texture changed as the chase ship curved upward back toward space, the wounded Corvine safely aboard.
"I guess that's that," Quinn said aloud, easing up on the throttle and lifting the Corvine's nose away from the planet below. The battle was over, and with it any need to stay at Level X. Bracing himself, he disengaged.
With a breathtaking suddenness, the brilliant colors were gone. The colors, and the aromas, and the sensations, and the other presences in his mind. He was all alone again, suspended precariously in the center of a vast, uncaring universe that had once again become dark and dreary.
A universe from which several of his friends and comrades in arms had now been taken. Forever.
For a long, agonizing moment he fought the old silent battle within himself: whether to stay here, or to go back to Level X for just a few minutes more. But down deep, he knew what the final outcome of that battle had to be. Level X was a glorious existence, a dazzling universe where life was neat and ordered and there were no emotional knives to cut and twist into a person's gut. But it wasn't reality; and a long time ago he'd decided where it was he had to live his life.
And so, with a hollowness in his soul, and with silent tears streaming across his cheeks, he turned the Corvine to follow the rescue ship back across the dark of space toward the battered fleet. And wished he'd been one of the ones who had died.
The teeth-aching screech of metal on metal ground to a halt, and there was a distant clang as the forward cargo hatch slammed shut. "That's got 'er," Cho Ming called out.
"Right," Daschka said, easing the throttle back and pulling up toward space. "There you go, Cavanagh. Happy?"
"Yes," Aric murmured. "Thank you."
Daschka shrugged. "I never said I wasn't willing to help out," he said. "I just didn't want to get vaporized in the process."
Aric smiled. "I guess that's understandable."
"Bet your sweet assets," Daschka agreed. "Well, let's get over to the Trafalgar. We've got some damaged goods here to deliver. And I suspect we're going to want to have a long talk with Commodore Montgomery."
21
Valloittaja's fur had been gradually stiffening throughout Nzz-oonaz's description of the battle, a gesture or reaction the searcher had found both disturbing and strangely distracting. Now, abruptly, the fur snapped flat again. "So, then, what you are saying is that you have failed us," the Mrachani said.
"I'm sorry," Nzz-oonaz said automatically before catching himself. There was no need for him to apologize to the Mrachanis. In fact, if anything, the apologies and explanations should be traveling the other direction. "But if there's any blame to be placed here, I believe there's enough for all of us to share."
Valloittaja seemed to shrink into himself. "Of what use is blame?" he asked, his voice low and edged with fear and pain. "The Zhirrzh strength has been tried and has failed... and the Mrachanis now face extinction at the hands of our oppressors."
"That will not happen," Gll-borgiv put in, flicking his tongue for emphasis. "We will not allow it."
"And you and the Conquerors Without Reason are both wrong if you think that Zhirrzh strength has failed," Svv-selic added with equal firmness.
"Do you truly believe that?" Valloittaja's voice was still soft, but suddenly there was an undertone to it that sent a chill of shame through Nzz-oonaz. "You, who were driven out before them? You, who by your own admission wavered in your determination when first faced with the Yycroman line of defense?"
"I don't entirely understand that part myself," Nzz-oonaz admitted. "There was something about the defenders being nonwarrior craft instead of warships - "
"The Yycromae are a warrior people," Valloittaja hissed. "I have told you that again and again. There are no nonwarriors with them."
"We understand," Gll-borgiv said. "And we won't make that mistake again. In fact - "
"If I may speak," Nzz-oonaz cut him off, throwing a warning glare at both him and Svv-selic. He'd been far too lax lately in maintaining his rights and responsibilities as speaker of this group, and it was about time he reasserted that authority. "The fact of the matter, Valloittaja, is that your information did not lead us to expect either the Conqueror Without Reason fleet or the two Yycroman warships that appeared."
"I know," Valloittaja murmured. The brief flash of anger was gone, and once again he seemed to shrink in his seat. A vulnerable, helpless creature facing a future full of fear and hopelessness. "And that is why I can see only extinction for myself and my people. For the universe is filled with the unexpected; and if Zhirrzh strength and resolution cannot face even so small a test, how can you hope to endure a truly difficult challenge?"
"And what is this challenge?" Nzz-oonaz asked, resisting the temptation to again defend his people and their character.
"What else but the proposed attack on the planet Earth?" Valloittaja said. "That is the center of their power and influence. More important, it is undoubtedly the place where the weapon CIRCE is being assembled."
From the edges of his eyes Nzz-oonaz saw Gll-borgiv's and Svv-selic's tails speed up; felt his own tail twitch despite his best efforts to control it. "An attack on Earth would hardly be merely another challenge," he said to Valloittaja. "Your information as well as our own indicates that Earth is defended by awesome weaponry. And with their tunnel-line detectors, they would have eighty hunbeats of advance warning that our warships were coming."
"There is a way around that," Valloittaja said, sounding almost pathetically eager. "We have a way, if only you'll agree to help and protect us."
"We will listen to your ideas," Nzz-oonaz said with a nod. "But not right now."
There was an uncomfortable shuffling from the two searchers flanking him. Nzz-oonaz felt it himself: the sense of frantic urgency filling the air, tugging at him to agree to whatever the Mrachanis wanted. If they didn't attack Earth as quickly as possible,
all could be lost.
But he had his instructions from the Overclan Prime himself, and he was determined to obey them. "We must first wait until Warrior Command has had a chance to assess the damage to the strike force," he told Valloittaja, "and to fully evaluate the warriors' performance in that battle. Only then will we discuss what further actions are to be taken."
"But that will take time," Valloittaja objected. "Time that neither you nor we can afford to waste."
"We do not consider such evaluations to be a waste of time," Nzz-oonaz said firmly. "Regardless, that is how it will be."
For a few beats Valloittaja looked in turn at each of the three searchers, his eyes large and liquid and with a pain and disappointment behind them that made Nzz-oonaz ache with shame for what his people were doing to these helpless victims of Conqueror Without Reason tyranny. But he had his instructions, and for a change both Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv remembered their places and also remained silent, and finally Valloittaja sighed. "If that is how it will be, then that is how it will be," he said, the forlorn resignation in his voice making Nzz-oonaz ache even more. "May I at least beg your leaders to perform their evaluation with the utmost speed?"
"They will," Nzz-oonaz promised, fighting against the urge to back down on this. It was not a decision he had any power to change. "We understand the dangers as well as you do."
The Mrachani smiled wanly. "I doubt that, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he said softly. "I doubt that very much."
Turning, he walked out of the conference room. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz?" the soft voice of an Elder said in Nzz-oonaz's ear. "There's a private pathway waiting for you aboard the Closed Mouth."
Nzz-oonaz flicked his tongue silently in acknowledgment. "I need to go back to the ship for a few hunbeats," he said to Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv, playing their usual game wherever Elders were concerned. "You two go on back to our rooms, and I'll join you there soon."
An Elder was waiting for him in the room aboard the Closed Mouth where they held all their communications with Oaccanv. "Who is it?" Nzz-oonaz asked as he sealed the door behind him. "The Overclan Prime?"