Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

by Timothy Zahn

  "No," the Elder said darkly. "It's Searcher Thrr-gilag; Kee'rr."

  Nzz-oonaz felt his midlight pupils narrow. Thrr-gilag? "Open the pathway," he ordered. "Thrr-gilag, this is a pleasant surprise."

  The Elder didn't move. "May I remind you, Searcher, that this mission has an extremely high warrior security classification," he said. "You aren't supposed to be speaking with anyone except the Overclan Prime and Warrior Command."

  "I understand that," Nzz-oonaz said. "But Thrr-gilag was once part of this study group, and I consider him to be one still. Besides, the fact that the Elders coordinating our communications have allowed him this contact implies the Overclan Prime has given him permission to speak with me. Please open the pathway."

  "I obey," the Elder growled, his voice still deep with disapproval, and vanished.

  He returned a few beats later. " 'For me, as well, Nzz-oonaz,' " he quoted Thrr-gilag's reply. " 'How are your discussions with the Mrachanis going?' "

  "They're certainly interesting," Nzz-oonaz said. "Beyond that it's hard to say. Where are you, anyway? I thought you were supposed to come to Mra with us."

  " 'That got changed at the last beat. I'm on Dorcas with my brother, Thrr-mezaz, and Klnn-dawan-a. We were sent here to study a Human prisoner and two Mrachanis who came claiming to be ambassadors.' "

  "That's a relief," Nzz-oonaz said. "I was afraid you'd been staked out in a stream somewhere for the savagefish."

  " 'You'd be surprised,' " the wry answer came back. " 'I know you're probably not supposed to be talking to me at all, so I'll keep this brief. Do you happen to have the metabolic data from the two Mrachanis we brought back to Oaccanv from Base World Twelve?' "

  "The ones who warned us about the Human-Conquerors and then died?" Nzz-oonaz asked, swiveling a reader toward him and keying it on. "I think so. Why?"

  He had the proper data located by the time the Elder returned. " 'I've got some metabolic baselines now for these two Mrachanis, and they don't seem to fit. But I don't have the original data to compare it with, so I thought maybe I was just remembering it wrong.' "

  "Well, I've got the original data in front of me," Nzz-oonaz told him. "Go ahead and read me your numbers, and I'll read you these, and then we'll both have a set of each."

  " 'Sounds good. Okay: oxygen metabolic usage: twelve-point-seven per hunbeat...' "

  It took several hunbeats to get all the numbers transferred back and forth. And when they were finished, it was clear to Nzz-oonaz that Thrr-gilag's memory wasn't the problem. "You're right, this makes no sense at all," he said, flicking his tongue thoughtfully as he gazed at the parallel columns of numbers. "It almost looks like those other two Mrachanis were from an entirely different subspecies."

  " 'You've seen a lot more Mrachanis than I have. Is that possible?' "

  "Probably not," Nzz-oonaz had to concede. "I haven't seen any evidence of separate species or subspecies. None of their information lists mention such a thing, either."

  He frowned as the Elder headed off with his message, gazing at the numbers again. There was a pattern there - he could almost taste it. But where was it?

  " 'There's one other possibility,' " Thrr-gilag's answer came back a hunbeat later, " 'though I almost hesitate to bring it up. Klnn-dawan-a just pointed out to me that the Base World Mrachanis' metabolic rate would be consistent with some kind of slow poisoning.' "

  Nzz-oonaz's tail twitched. There it was - the pattern he hadn't quite seen. "Klnn-dawan-a's a genius," he said, motioning the Elder to follow as he headed toward the study group's analysis room. "She's absolutely right. I don't know why none of us saw it before."

  He had the analyzer going by the time the Elder returned. " 'I'll bet it's because the Mrachanis there haven't let you do any real examinations. I know ours here tried everything to get out of letting us look at them.' "

  "You're half-right," Nzz-oonaz said as he keyed in the numbers Thrr-gilag had given him. "They've agreed to let us examine them, but somehow it's never happened."

  " 'Without your even noticing, I'll bet. You know, I'm starting to get a really uneasy sense about these aliens.' "

  "Welcome to the group," Nzz-oonaz said grimly. "The numbers are starting to come up. It's a toxin pattern, all right. And if the extrapolations are correct, the initial metabolic poisoning occurred just about a fullarc before they reached Base World Twelve."

  " 'That would be right after they were captured by the Cakk'rr warship?' "

  "Right," Nzz-oonaz confirmed. "And I'm not suggesting the Cakk'rr had anything to do with it."

  The pause this time was longer, and Nzz-oonaz could visualize Thrr-gilag reluctantly coming to the same uncomfortable conclusion he himself had already reached. " 'Are you saying the Mrachanis poisoned themselves? Why would they do something like that?' "

  "To achieve precisely the result they got," Nzz-oonaz said. "They were in a coma most of the way back to Oaccanv, woke up just long enough to deliver a warning about the Human-Conquerors to the Overclan Seating, and then died."

  He threw a glance around the analysis room. "Sacrificing themselves so that we wouldn't have any other way to learn about them except to send a ship here."

  " 'You think it's a trap, then?' " the reply came back. " 'That they're working with the Humans?' "

  "I don't know," Nzz-oonaz said, flicking his tongue in a negative. "It could be. Personally, I'd guess they're doing this entirely on their own. Maybe they're telling the truth about being under Human-Conqueror domination and thought this was the only way to get us to talk to them."

  " 'Maybe. Either way, we'd better alert Warrior Command and the Overclan Prime about it.' "

  "Absolutely." Nzz-oonaz glanced at his armwatch. "I'll do it - I'm due to speak with the Prime in another twenty hunbeats anyway. Don't worry, though; I don't think they really trust the Mrachanis either. Certainly not after the events at Phormbi this postmidarc."

  The Elder flicked his tongue. "You shouldn't refer to the Phormbi battle, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he said.

  "Yes, you're right." Nzz-oonaz nodded. These former warriors could be a pain under the tongue sometimes, what with their rambling reminiscences and generally obsolete suggestions on how things had been done back in their fullarc. Occasionally, though, listening to them could help keep you out of trouble. "Send everything but that last sentence."

  "I obey," the Elder said, and vanished.

  He was back a few beats later. " 'All right. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing, Nzz-oonaz. Thanks for the information.' "

  "No problem," Nzz-oonaz assured him. "Thank you and Klnn-dawan-a for figuring out this metabolism thing. Farewell."

  " 'Farewell.' "

  And that was that, Nzz-oonaz said to himself: possibly the last stitch in the edgework on this proposed attack on Earth. Warrior Command, already leery, would undoubtedly insist on more evidence of Mrachani trustworthiness before risking their warships on such a mission.

  Which might save them from a second ambush. Or might spook the Mrachanis into calling down the Human-Conquerors on them if they were in fact working for the enemy. Or might irreparably damage a potentially useful alliance if they weren't.

  Or might do nothing at all except give the Human-Conquerors the time they needed to finish assembling CIRCE.

  Nzz-oonaz grimaced, a sour taste under his tongue. Fortunately, he supposed, none of these potentially disastrous decisions were his to make. In this case he was little more than the communicator.

  He looked at his armwatch again. Never mind the schedule; this one was important enough to interrupt Warrior Command. "Elder?"

  "No," Commodore Montgomery said firmly. "Absolutely not."

  "I'd respectfully request you reconsider, sir," Daschka said. His tone was quiet and respectful, but Montgomery wasn't fooled: the man had the full quota of arrogant self-confidence that seemed to come standard issue with NorCoord Military Intelligence operatives. "This is our chance to find out where this Zhirrzh raiding party came from."<
br />
  Montgomery snorted. "Trust me, Mr. Daschka, we know exactly where they come from. In fact, we were supposed to be delivering this same sort of message to one of their worlds. Now I presume that delivery will be put on indefinite hold."

  "What I mean is that this is our opportunity to learn whether or not the Zhirrzh and Mrachanis have put together some kind of deal," Daschka said. "Coincidentally or otherwise, they're currently headed off on a vector that will keep them out of range of every other Peacekeeper tachyon detector in these two sectors. If we let them get out of our range, too, we'll lose them."

  One of the command ring displays flicked on: the damage report on the Antelope was finally in. "You have a ship, Mr. Daschka," Montgomery reminded the other tartly, running his eyes down the list. Not good, but it could be a lot worse. "If you want to go chasing after Zhirrzh warships, be my guest."

  "We intend to," Daschka said patiently. "But chasing them down is only half the problem. If that fleet is headed for some cozy hideaway, they're going to be very unhappy when someone from our side shows up to take a look. I'd like to have enough firepower along so that we'll have half a chance of meshing in, seeing what's going on, and meshing back out again before we're blown to atoms."

  "So ask the Yycromae," Montgomery growled, scrolling down the list and making a note on his plate. Good; the Antelope's life support was still functional. Maybe the techs could get their spare scrubber system over to the Galileo before the jury-rig there fell apart completely. "They seem to have firepower to spare at the moment."

  "I'd rather not," Daschka said stiffly. "I don't altogether trust the Yycromae."

  Carefully, Montgomery laid down his plate. "Look," he said, fixing Daschka with his best command-rank glare. "My task force has been demolished. You understand? Demolished. The only ship I would trust to fly right now is the fuel carrier Pelican, and that only because we left it back at the practice area when we charged in on this ridiculous rescue mission. I'm not going with you; I'm not assigning a ship to go with you; I'm not letting a ship go with you."

  He leveled a finger. "And let me also point out that it's been your colleagues in NorCoord Intelligence who've been running around making sub-rosa armament agreements with the Yycromae. If you don't trust them, that's hardly a sterling endorsement for either you or your treaties."

  "Commodore?" the comm-duty officer called. "There's a call coming in for a Mr. Daschka. Is he there with you?"

  "Ensign, this is not Mr. Daschka's private answering service," Montgomery snapped. "Whoever it is can just file it."

  "Yes, sir," the officer said. "Uh... it's the Klyveress ci Yyatoor, sir: Twelfth Counsel to the Yycroman Hierarch. She'd like to speak with Mr. Daschka."

  Montgomery glowered at Daschka, stomach tightening with the unpleasant feeling of having just been had. "Thank you," he growled, punching for the channel and beckoning Daschka forward. "I believe it's for you."

  Daschka moved to his side as the display lit up to reveal a crocodilian Yycroman face. "This is Daschka, ci Yyatoor," he said. "How can I serve you?"

  [A skitter from Granparra has just arrived,] Klyveress said. [I presume the Peacekeeper forces detected it.]

  Daschka glanced at Montgomery, a questioning look on his face. Montgomery shrugged in response. He'd been far too busy lately to notice any skitters, but he wasn't really surprised to hear that one had sneaked in. Come hell or high water, the mail always seemed to make it through.

  [It contained an encrypted message for you,] the ci Yyatoor continued. [Would you like me to transmit it?]

  "Yes, thank you," Daschka nodded, pulling out a card and sliding it into the transfer slot. "Go ahead."

  The slot beeped, and he removed the card. [Commodore Lord Montgomery,] Klyveress said, the long snout shifting to point at him. [Allow me to present my gratitude for your unselfish and sacrificial aid in our time of critical need. The Yycroman Hierarchy and the Yycroman people will not soon forget.]

  "You're welcome," Montgomery said, bowing his head toward the display and trying furiously to remember the proper protocol for dealing with Yycroman leaders. "May I also say that our sacrifices would have been considerably greater without the assistance and similar sacrifices of your people. We thank you in turn."

  Klyveress inclined her head in acceptance. [It is to our mutual advantage to have your battle force repaired as quickly as possible, Commodore Lord Montgomery,] she said. [To that end I am placing our repair facilities at your complete disposal. I would beg you to take advantage of them.]

  "You won't have to offer twice," Montgomery said. "I accept, again with thanks. With your permission I'll transfer this channel over to my fleet exec, who's coordinating our repair efforts."

  [I will await with anticipation my conversation with him,] Klyveress said gravely. [I bid you farewell for now.]

  Montgomery keyed for hold. "Transfer this to Captain Germaine," he called to the comm officer. "Tell him it's the Yycromae with an offer of assistance. And tell him to take everything they'll give him."

  "Yes, sir."

  Montgomery looked back to Daschka, who was frowning thoughtfully at his plate. "If that's all, then, we're very busy here," he told the other. "I'd appreciate your getting off my ship as soon as your partner finishes your refueling. And be sure you take that civilian Aric Cavanagh with you."

  "We were planning to, Commodore," Daschka said, reversing the plate and offering it to him. "But before I go, you might find this interesting."

  Grimacing, Montgomery took the plate and skimmed through the message. A senior NorCoord Intelligence officer - he noticed that, as with his copy of the Yycroman agreements, Daschka had discreetly screened off the officer's name - had found indications that two major Mrachani operations were imminent. The first -

  "You'll notice that the first operation - Mirnacheem-hyeea One - was scheduled for today," Daschka pointed out. "As you may know, Mirnacheem-hyeea means Conquerors Without Reason; and on Day Zero we've just had a Conqueror attack on Phormbi. Coincidence?"

  Montgomery shrugged noncommittally. "Why Phormbi?"

  "Because this is where the Yycromae have been working to rebuild their space forces," Daschka said. "There's no particular reason why the Zhirrzh would have known about that. But we know for a fact that the Mrachanis did."

  "Mm," Montgomery grunted, skimming over the rest of the message. The Intelligence officer had subsequently headed off to Mra to do some snooping around, taking Lord Stewart Cavanagh with him - "Lord Cavanagh?" he demanded, glaring up at Daschka again. "He's involved in this, too?"

  "You'd be surprised at the things he's involved in," Daschka said ruefully. "I don't even think I know all of it."

  Montgomery nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. It was becoming increasingly and annoyingly difficult to swing a dead cat around this war without hitting something Lord Cavanagh had had a hand in, from secret Yycroman agreements to former employees who had their own individualistic idea of how orders were supposed to be carried out. And that whole thing was just one more headache he didn't need right now.

  He paused, a sudden idea occurring to him. Maybe this was his chance to kill two birds with one stone. Or at least chase one of the birds out of his hair for a while. "Tell you what," he said to Daschka. "I can't spare you any capital ships; but what I can do is let you have a single fighter and a pilot. You can put it in your forward hold where it'll be ready to launch if you run into trouble. It'll be better than nothing, anyway."

  Daschka pursed his lips. "I suppose so," he conceded. "Very well, I accept. I don't suppose this fighter will be in anything close to mint condition."

  "No, but it's not as bad as some we've got aboard," Montgomery assured him. "You'll have a few hours; perhaps you can make some running repairs. Oh, and I won't be able to spare you a tail man, either - we need him aboard."

  "This sounds better all the time," Daschka said dryly. "Is the pilot at least conscious?"

  "Conscious, in perfect health, and one of the best," Montg
omery assured him. "I'll have the orders cut immediately, and he'll be in the hangar bay by the time you're ready to leave."

  "We'll be expecting him," Daschka said. "May I ask his name?"

  "Certainly," Montgomery said. "Copperhead Lieutenant Adam Quinn. Former - and also probably future - employee of Lord Stewart Cavanagh."

  Daschka shook his head. "Why," he said, "am I not surprised?"

  Speaker Cvv-panav sipped at his cup of aged Minsinc wine. "Interesting," he said. "Tell me this, Searcher Gll-borgiv: do you still trust him?"

  The Elder nodded and vanished. Cvv-panav sipped again at his wine, savoring the delicate aroma of the glycerol and flavorings, and touched another key on his reader. There was a beat, and then the listing came up.

  The Elder returned. " 'Implicitly, Speaker Cvv-panav,' " he quoted Gll-borgiv's words. " 'Everything Valloittaja told us about Phormbi and the Yycromae was subsequently proved to be correct.' "

  "Except for the part about the Human-Conqueror attack," Cvv-panav pointed out. "Did he have anything to say about that?"

  The Elder vanished, and the Speaker turned his attention back to the listing. All right. The first five warships were already in position, less than two tentharcs from their respective rendezvous points. Six others would be in position in another fullarc, plus the three from the Phormbi attack force if he decided they were still reasonably battle capable. The follow-up forces would be more complicated; still, if he started breaking into the various colony-world fleets before they were reassembled...

  The Elder reappeared. " 'He has repeatedly warned us the Yycromae are allies of the Conquerors Without Reason. I don't consider the unexpected appearance of that attack force to be in any way a failure of Mrach intelligence.' "

  And perhaps you're just too easy to please, Cvv-panav thought contemptuously. But that didn't matter. He, Speaker Cvv-panav, was the one making the decisions here, and he was safely detached from whatever warm, fuzzy image of themselves the Mrachanis had been weaving around the young fools of the contact team. Of course the Mrachanis were fallible. They were possibly even untrustworthy.