by Timothy Zahn
But the opportunity was just too good to pass up. "Has he given you any more details about this supposed plan they have for slipping our warships in through Human-Conqueror space?"
The Elder nodded and vanished. All right, Cvv-panav said to himself, studying his reader. Follow-up forces. Four warships from the Dharanv defense forces - no problem; they were all under the authority of the Dhaa'rr Leadership Council, which answered solely to him. Three more warships, commanded and crewed exclusively by Dhaa'rr, had been recalled from the Etsiji and Chigin encirclement forces and were on their way to bolster the various Zhirrzh beachheads. They would have to be diverted without Warrior Command noticing....
The Elder flicked back. " 'Searcher Nzz-oonaz wouldn't listen to him, but I myself have had two further private discussions with him. He informs me the technique is very workable and is in fact similar to the one the enemy used at Phormbi. Eight to ten Mrach spacecraft will be attached to each Zhirrzh warship and will literally tow them through the tunnel-line. Without their own tunnel drives operating, our warships will not create the distinctive supraluminal trail markings that the Conquerors Without Reason use to identify approaching spacecraft. They will detect only the Mrachani craft.' "
"Yes," the Speaker murmured. He would have to take the Mrachani's word for that, but it sounded reasonable enough. "And he still feels he can guarantee complete surprise?"
" 'Without a doubt,' " the confident reply came. " 'All the ships would converge on Earth along different vectors. There would thus not be any large groups of ships coming in from a single direction to arouse suspicion.' "
Cvv-panav smiled cynically. And it might also help conceal the Mrachanis' role from vengeful Human-Conqueror survivors. But that was all right. Enlightened self-interest was, after all, the summation line for all thinking creatures. He'd have been far more suspicious if this Valloittaja hadn't taken careful steps to protect his own neck.
And it meant Mrachani ships would be right there with the Zhirrzh warships for this attack. After Phormbi that was something he would have insisted on even if their transport method hadn't required it. "Very well, then, Searcher Gll-borgiv," he said. "Inform Valloittaja that despite the failure at Phormbi, our private agreement remains in force. The Dhaa'rr clan will assist them in this attack on Earth."
He held up a finger as the Elder began to nod. "And remind him, Searcher Gll-borgiv," he added darkly, "that this is still to be kept a private matter between him and you. No one else must hear anything about this."
He waved the Elder permission to leave, then turned back to his reader. Yes, it would be tricky; but with a first-strike force of fourteen warships and a follow-up force of at least ten more, he had enough firepower here to turn the Mrachanis' so-called Conquerors Two operation into a devastating and decisive strike at the very throat of the Human-Conqueror race.
And with that victory would come his final political triumph over those of the Zhirrzh who had set themselves in opposition to him and the Dhaa'rr clan. From the lowliest Elder all the way up to the Overclan Prime himself.
So let the nornin-hearted of Warrior Command count their wounds and list their new Elders and debate this or that or the other. What mattered now was courage and resolve and action; and as it had so many times in the past, the Dhaa'rr clan would show the way.
"There it is," Bronski said, pointing out the window of their rented aircar toward the horizon. "Puvkit Tru Kai, the Garden Of The Mad Stonewright. Interesting formations, the odd bit of unusual plant life, and a fortress carved into solid rock you could hide a battalion in."
"So what now?" Cavanagh asked, shading his eyes as he peered out at the distant rock formations. "We just fly over and knock?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Kolchin said tightly. "That aircar making a dropline toward us would probably object."
"Where?" Bronski asked.
"Coming straight out of the sun."
"I see him," Bronski nodded. "Let's set down and see if he's interested in talking."
He keyed for landing, and as the computer eased off the aft jets and eased in the underside jets, the aircar dropped smoothly to the ground with only a gentle bump to announce its arrival. A moment later the other aircraft landed fifty meters away, its nose pointed at the rental's side. "At least they're learning some basic tactics," Bronski grunted as he popped the catch and let the gull-wing door swing up. "Okay, it's show time. You two better stay here. Kolchin?"
"I'm ready," the bodyguard assured him, his flechette pistol lying unobtrusively across his lap. "What's the cue if you want me to open fire?"
"Standard commando flash-hand signal," Bronski told him, climbing out. "Go for the antenna cluster first - extra company will be high on our list of things to avoid. Oh, and try to give me time to hit the ground first."
He headed off across the uneven ground toward the other aircar. He'd covered about half the distance when its gull-wings swung open and two Mrachanis got out of the left-hand side.
Out of the right-hand side squeezed a Bhurt.
"Uh-oh," Cavanagh muttered as the alien lumbered around the nose of the aircar toward Bronski.
"Don't panic," Kolchin murmured. "If they were going to shoot first, they wouldn't have sent him out the far side."
Bronski hardly even glanced at the Bhurt as the alien came to a stop beside him. For a few minutes he talked earnestly with the Mrachanis, his posture one of authority and confidence, the wallet folder containing his forged red card prominent in his hand. One of the Mrachanis took the wallet at one point and examined the card closely before almost reluctantly handing it back. Bronski returned it to his jacket, and with a crisp nod he turned and walked back toward the aircar. The Bhurt and Mrachanis got back into their vehicle and, in a cloud of dust, lifted into the air.
"How did it go?" Cavanagh asked as Bronski climbed back into the pilot's seat.
"A little mixed," Bronski shrugged. "I told them we'd been hired to look over their outside security arrangements."
"And they bought that?" Kolchin asked.
"They bought the red card, anyway," Bronski said. "But I don't think they were very happy about doing it."
"Sounds like our clock is ticking down," Kolchin said. "Maybe we should go in for our look and get out."
"Patience," Bronski said, gazing thoughtfully at the rock formations in the distance. "They seemed marginally less nervous about our presence here when I let on that we had no idea about what was going on inside the rim fortress. I imagine they'll be watching us, so let's be good little boys and stay out here at the perimeter for a while. Maybe by the time they get bored, we'll have spotted a back door into that fortress."
"Meanwhile, they'll be burning up the lines to the capital to check out your red card," Cavanagh pointed out.
"Let 'em," Bronski grunted. "The authorizing signature's the name of a Mrachani who happens to be on meditation-retreat at the moment. Take them hours to even locate him."
He started to key in the drive; paused. "Two other things," he said. "The Mrachanis told me to shut down all my radars and radios, which tells me that whatever's going on in there is highly sensitive to electromagnetic radiation. Both of you ought to keep that in mind if we need to create a diversion on our way out."
He half turned in his seat to face the others. "Final point, then. If I read that card right on Granparra, the Conquerors One operation starts sometime today. May have already started, for that matter. The bad news is that if it's a straight military operation, it means someone in Yycroman space is going to get pounded; the good news is that the fact that we're the only humans in sight implies the operation doesn't involve Peacekeeper forces. So we're out of it."
Cavanagh felt a hard knot in his stomach. The mental image of the gravely dignified Klyveress ci Yyatoor dying amid the wreckage of one of her worlds was an oddly distressing one. "Isn't there any way to stop it?"
"Not a chance," Bronski said flatly. "If it's a long-term campaign, we might be able to cut it
short, but probably not. My point is that we need to consider Conquerors One to be a done deal, and to concentrate all our efforts on figuring out Conquerors Two. That's the one we might still have a chance of stopping. Understood?"
Cavanagh nodded. "Understood."
"All right." Turning back around, Bronski keyed in the drive. "The game starts here. Let's play."
22
"The sentries at Post Two first spotted it about half an hour ago," Takara told Holloway as the two of them climbed carefully down the sloping and treacherously tanglevined ground just outside the encampment's northern perimeter. "They thought at first that it was chasing something, or else that it had been injured. Nightbear Raille brought it down, took one look, and called it in."
The animal was lying half-propped up against a tree, one of its sharp-edged horns wedged into a leaf cluster. Three men - two Peacekeepers and a civilian - were standing in a silent group around it. "Okay, let's have it," Holloway said. "Doctor?"
"Nightbear was right, Colonel," the doctor said. "It's halucine disease."
"Terrific," Holloway said. "All right, give me the bottom line."
"It's bad enough," the doctor said. "But it's not as bad as it could be. The halucine virus is waterborne, but it's easily neutralized or filtered. Even if any gets through, it has only a mild effect on most humans." His lips compressed briefly as he gestured down toward the dead razorhorn. "Where it's going to hurt is the game animals."
Holloway shifted his attention to the tall black-haired civilian hunter. "Any chance of tracking it back to where it picked up the virus, Nightbear? Maybe we can wipe out this batch before it spreads."
"We can try, Colonel," Nightbear said, shaking his head. "But I don't think it'll help. The scent's already in the air."
"What scent?" Takara asked.
"The altered scent of a sick razorhorn," the doctor explained. "In individual animals, it attracts predators and warns other razorhorns away. But if you get enough of them giving off the same diseased smell, it'll drive everything out of the affected area. Predator and prey both."
And the wind was blowing hard from the northeast, sending the aroma straight across the civilian bivouac area. "How soon before that happens?"
"It's already happening," Nightbear said. "The hunters have already noticed a decline in their take."
"The trappers, too," the doctor added. "I checked their numbers for the past five days. It's not too bad so far, but it's definitely there. And definitely going to get worse."
Holloway grimaced. "How long before the epidemic runs its course?"
"The last halucine outbreak in this section of the continent drove the razorhorns out of about an eight-thousand-square-kilometer area for four months," the doctor said. "The virus itself disappeared after about two, but it took another two for the animals to wander their way back again."
Holloway chewed at the inside of his cheek. Four months. And it was only three months until the beginning of winter. "All right," he said. "Nightbear, you go to the leaders of the hunting and trapping teams and get them working double time - we need to take whatever we can before the game heads off for greener pastures. Doctor, I want you to try to analyze the altered scent from this animal, see if you can come up with some way to neutralize it or cover it up. And get some teams out to the nearby streams and find out where the contamination's coming from. We might as well kill off as much of the virus as we can find."
"Yes, sir," the doctor said. "Come on, gentlemen, let's get this animal up to the encampment."
Holloway gestured to Takara, and together they headed back up the slope. "This isn't going to help," Takara commented in a low voice as they climbed. "And I think you know it. Sooner or later we're going to have no choice but to pull up stakes and get out of here."
"You have no idea what you're saying, Fuji," Holloway said. "Move twenty-five thousand civilians at least fifty kilometers across mountainous territory? And under enemy observation and probable enemy fire?"
"I didn't say I liked the idea," Takara said soberly. "I hate to think how many people we're going to lose along the way. But the longer we postpone it, the bigger the risk that we'll hit winter without a food supply built up. We do that, and we'll be guaranteeing slow starvation for all of us."
Holloway looked up at the sentry post above them, part of the perimeter of the refuge they'd worked so hard to put together. "I should have insisted they all leave," he said. "Even if we'd had to throw them bodily onto the ships."
"There wasn't enough space on the ships for all of them, Cass," Takara said. "Even if every flight here before the Zhirrzh hit had gone out full. We'd still have had at least ten thousand left."
Holloway's comm buzzed. "Ten to one it's more good news," he said sourly, pulling out the comm and flicking it on. "Holloway."
"Crane, sir," Crane's voice came. "Spotter One just picked up an aerial explosion southwest of the base."
Holloway threw a frown at Takara. As far as they'd seen, the Zhirrzh didn't use explosives. "What kind of explosion?"
"Gasperi's running an analysis on the blast spectrum," Crane said. "But all indications are that it was either a missile or a spacecraft."
A cold chill ran up Holloway's back. A spacecraft? "Get that analysis done fast," he ordered. "We'll be right there."
"Commander Cavanagh?"
Pheylan started awake. "Yes, Max?"
"We've reached the Dorcas system, Commander," the computer said. "We'll be meshing in in approximately ten minutes."
"Thank you," Pheylan said, unstrapping his sleep webbing and rubbing at his eyes. "Do we have any idea where the Peacekeepers might have holed up?"
"We have no definite information," Max said. "However, I have a general focus area based on the vectors of the supply flights I observed while Dr. Cavanagh and I were waiting for Commander Masefield's Copperhead unit to arrive."
A display came on, showing the area around the main village. "There are numerous possible bivouac sites in the mountains to the east," Max went on. "If we can get within visual range of them, the Peacekeepers should be able to do the rest."
"Let's hope they're on their toes," Pheylan said, retrieving the survival pack he'd prepared from its locker and strapping it on. "And that the Zhirrzh aren't on theirs. You sure this mesh-in plan is going to work?"
"The theory itself is perfectly sound," Max said. "The distances themselves can be calculated precisely, and Dorcas's average atmospheric density at our chosen mesh-in altitude is well within safety margins. However, as is generally the case with real-world situations, there are likely to be variables the theory does not take into account."
"Translation: we're throwing dice on this," Pheylan said.
"Our odds are considerably better than that," Max assured him, sounding almost huffy. "I wouldn't have agreed to it if I thought it was overly dangerous."
"Loaded dice, then," Pheylan corrected dryly, pulling out a jump seat and beginning to strap himself in. "It's still a damn sight safer than meshing in where we'd have to run the gauntlet of Zhirrzh ships."
"We can still abort and go elsewhere," Max reminded him. "We have sufficient fuel to go anywhere in the Commonwealth."
"Convince me my family's safely off Dorcas and you've got a deal." Pheylan checked his restraints and nodded. "Ready. Give me a countdown."
The minutes passed, and soon it was time. Pheylan braced himself, watching the displays as Max's countdown ran to zero -
He was prepared for the standard jolt that always seemed to accompany mesh-in while riding in a small craft. He was not prepared for the thunderous blast that slammed the fueler back like a toy and threw him hard against his restraints. "Max!" he shouted over the sudden pummeling.
"Under control," Max called back. On the status board a dozen warning lights flashed red; returned to green or amber as Max rerouted systems or shut them down. "A quantum hysteresis in the core caused mesh-in to be eighty point six meters lower into the atmosphere than planned. The turbulence itse
lf is due to conduction resonance with the planetary magnetic field and is normal for this procedure."
"Terrific," Pheylan muttered, getting a grip on his restraints with one hand and keying for a sensor scan of the area with the other. The whole object of this exercise had been to mesh in beneath the Zhirrzh blockade ships. If that hadn't worked, the ride was likely to get a whole lot rougher.
He stiffened. There was one now, above and east of him: the distinctive linked-hexagon configuration of a Zhirrzh ship. "Got one," he snapped.
"I have it," Max confirmed. "Bearing one-one-two by six-four-one, distance four hundred eighty-two kilometers."
Pheylan braced himself. This wasn't going to be fun, but with an enemy ship this close they had no choice. "Drop us," he ordered. "Straight down and in."
"Acknowledged."
For an agonizing heartbeat nothing happened. Pheylan stared at the distant Zhirrzh warship, waiting for the flashes of laser light that would mean he'd been spotted and was under attack. The linked hexagons weren't much more than a bumpy blur at this distance, but he could imagine it rotating lazily around to bring its weapons to bear....
Then, with a jolt that again crushed him against his restraints, the fueler fired a burst directly along their vector, slowing them down and interrupting the rhythm of the resonant turbulence.
And with its forward momentum cut abruptly in half, the fueler plunged down toward the ground six hundred klicks below.
Pheylan swallowed hard. I meant to do that, he reminded himself tautly, his full attention still on the Zhirrzh ship. So far it hadn't reacted, but any surprise at his maneuver wouldn't last long. The fueler had to be hidden behind a thick shield of atmosphere before they recovered and started firing.
The trick being to get to safety under that shield without building up so much downward speed that they couldn't stop at all.