Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

"I just hope we'll be able to find them," Aric commented as Quinn sent the Corvine curving back. "A planet's a pretty big place to lose a couple of people in."

And even through the fog the trip was suddenly worth all the effort. "Melinda?" he croaked.

"I'm right here, Pheylan," she said, stepping over to where he lay and smiling down at him.

A smile that seemed curiously tight... and then, suddenly, it all came rushing back. The frantic trip through Dorcas's atmosphere, Max's incredibly competent landing, his own incredibly stupid clumsiness— And his capture by the enemy.

He lowered his eyes from his sister's face and looked at her body. Her outfit was all too familiar: the same type of obedience suit he'd been issued during his previous captivity, optical sensors and electromagnetic arm and leg rings and all.

Carefully, he turned his head to the side. A couple of meters to his left two Zhirrzh were looking back at him. "Right," he said, closing his eyes.

"That's not very sociable," Melinda chided him lightly. "Aren't you even going to say hello to an old friend?"

"I am pleased to see you recovering, Pheylan Cavanagh," a Zhirrzh voice said.

Pheylan opened his eyes, lifting his head from the table he was lying on and frowning again at the two Zhirrzh. The alien on the left...

No. It couldn't be. "Thrr-gilag?"

The Zhirrzh flicked his tongue. "I am pleased you remember."

"You'd be a little hard to forget," Pheylan muttered, laying his head back down and looking up at Melinda. Terrific. It wasn't bad enough he'd been recaptured by the enemy; it wasn't even bad enough that his sister, whom he'd come here hoping to help, was in the same boat he was. But it was humiliating to wind up with the same old interrogator again. It was like the time he was hauled back to his summer-camp cabin after his abortive attempt to go over the wall. "So who's your friend?" he asked.

"This is Klnn-dawan-a," Thrr-gilag said, his tongue darting out and curving around to point to the Zhirrzh beside him. "She and I were once bond-engaged. The Dhaa'rr clan has now repudiated that bond-engagement."

"I'm sorry," Pheylan said, since that seemed to be the thing to say. "Was it because I got away from you?"

"For that and for other reasons."

Pheylan grimaced. "Well, you've got me again. That ought to get you back in their good graces."

"In the meantime, we've got work to do," Melinda said briskly, stepping over to a table against the wall. There was some kind of electronic-equipment box sitting there, its face turned toward the wall. "Thrr-gilag and Klnn-dawan-a are here to study you," she continued, picking up a multitool and setting to work on one of the fasteners on the box's back. "Alien physiology must be an interesting field. Reminds me of the way I used to practice medical work on my Carrie Mantha doll. You remember?"

"Uh... sure," Pheylan said cautiously, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to tingle. The main thing he remembered about that doll was Melinda driving him and Aric crazy with it until they'd hidden it in the back of the kitchen revamperator. Unfortunately, their mother had come along and turned the appliance on—

In the back of the revamperator?

He threw a quick glance at the two Zhirrzh, finally catching on. Something was hidden in that box Melinda was fiddling with. Was it his job to distract the aliens while she got it out? "I don't feel so good," he muttered, wincing for their benefit.

"Where do you feel ill?" Thrr-gilag asked, stepping to his side.

"I'm sure you'll feel better soon," Melinda said, coming up beside the alien and laying a reassuring hand on Pheylan's left leg.

The touch felt odd. Pheylan looked down, noticing only then the tattered flight suit and the membrane cast immobilizing the leg. Almost as good a restraint as the Zhirrzh obedience suit Melinda was wearing, at least as far as escape was concerned. Whatever she was up to, he hoped it wouldn't call for acrobatics on his part. "You think so, huh?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"I'm positive," she said firmly, catching his eye and shaking her head minutely. "We're all playing the Flying Muskers here."

Pheylan frowned, more confused now than ever. The Flying Muskers had been the private club the three of them had formed with their next-door neighbor Lizza Easley when Pheylan was seven, modeled on their enthusiastic youthful reading of The Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all; and two of the four people present were enemy Zhirrzh, and what the hell was going on?

"Just be patient, Pheylan," Melinda soothed him. "Patience is a virtue."

Pheylan looked at the two Zhirrzh. Clearly, they'd heard what Melinda had said. Just as clearly, she hadn't been trying to hide it from them. What the hell was going on? "Sure," he murmured back. "Patience is a virtue."

It has been 7.43 hours since Commander Pheylan Cavanagh and I were captured by the Zhirrzh, 4.94 hours since I was brought here to my current location in the former Commonwealth colony, now clearly under enemy control. Four Zhirrzh have been with me since my arrival, while three others have come and gone at irregular intervals. They have been studying me and other pieces of equipment brought here from the fueler.

I also infer from their posture and the movements of their eyes when they speak that there are conduits of communication I cannot detect. I compute a probability of 0.77 that there are three of these conduits, and a probability of 0.97 that they are mobile.

I regret the loss of my peripherals, which occurred when Commander Cavanagh detached my core from the fueler. With active sensors at my disposal I estimate a probability of 0.60 that I would be able to detect the unknown conduits. Again from the movements and reactions of those in the room, I calculate a probability of 0.86 that communication is in both directions, with messages being brought to the Zhirrzh as well as taken from them.

The loss of my libraries has also reduced my language-analysis capabilities to 0.14 of normal, with the result that it has required the entire time of my captivity to collect sufficient data on the language being spoken by my captors. However, I now estimate a probability of 0.80 that I have enough information to initiate communication with them. One of the Zhirrzh has spoken approximately 32 percent of the words I have heard. I choose his tonal pattern for maximum auditory acceptance, varying the waveform structure so as not to duplicate his voice exactly, and attempt to speak.

{Can you understand me?}

All six of the Zhirrzh currently in the room stop what they are doing or saying and look at me. I file the facial and postural reactions, tentatively labeling them as surprise. One of the Zhirrzh moves 0.67 meter closer to me; I note the center pupil of each eye has narrowed to approximately half its previous width.

{Who are you?}

{My name is Max. Will you tell me where Commander Cavanagh has been taken?}

The Zhirrzh takes another step toward me. {Where are you?}

I find the question odd, given that his eyes appear to be directly focused on me. {I am on the table directly in front of you.}

{Inside the metal container?)

I spend 0.03 second pondering the intent of his question. I am of course not contained in the metal container itself, but in the Porterdale lattice within the container. Still, I estimate a probability of 0.70 that the question seeks only general spatial information. {Yes.}

One of the other Zhirrzh steps to the first Zhirrzh's left side. {Are you a Human-Conqueror?}

{No.}

A third Zhirrzh extends his tongue for 0.15 second. {It's a trick. It has to be.}