Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

The ghost returned and again held a brief conference with Thrr-gilag. "From the Overclan Prime," Thrr-gilag said. " 'Warrior Command has not been informed of this conversation. Many of the clan leaders would violently not approve of negotiations with you, especially with the current attack on the Zhirrzh ship trapped on Mra. Many will believe the Mrachanis and Human-Conquerors are cooperating in this attack.' "

Pheylan chewed at his lip. "Does the Overclan Prime know if the Mrachanis have begun trying to get through the Zhirrzh ship's hull yet?"

"Why?" Melinda asked as Thrr-gilag translated for the ghost.

"I'll tell you after we find out," Pheylan said. "If they are, I want to know what method they're using."

The ghost vanished. Ninety seconds later he was back.

"The Mrachanis are indeed attempting to penetrate the hull, Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag confirmed after the usual consultation. "They are using metal cutting tools, focused light, and explosive devices."

Pheylan smiled grimly. "In that case you can tell the Overclan Prime that no official human groups are involved in this. We know how to break Zhirrzh hulls, and it's not the way the Mrachanis are trying."

Thrr-gilag's tail twitched out of its usual steady corkscrewing motion. "You have found a way? How?"

"We had a tech team studying the buildings you left behind after I escaped," Pheylan told him. "They figured it out. The method's probably already back on Earth; it certainly could be on Mra by now if the Peacekeepers were involved."

Thrr-gilag's tail twitched again. "I will inform the Overclan Prime."

He spoke to the ghost, who vanished. "Are you sending all this to my father, too?" Pheylan asked. "He needs to know what's going on."

"He is hearing everything," Thrr-gilag assured him. "The Overclan Prime has insisted. It is by his authority that he hopes to persuade the other Human leaders."

"Good," Pheylan said. "Then when your communicator gets back, I've got some suggestions to make to him."

Beside the door Klnn-dawan-a suddenly hissed something and jumped toward Pheylan's table. "Someone is coming," Thrr-gilag said, grabbing two of their instruments and tossing her one of them. Pheylan dropped back flat on the table, wondering fleetingly whether he should feign pain or nervousness or defiance or whether it really mattered—

Abruptly the door slammed open against its stop, and a tall Zhirrzh strode in, three others behind him. Two of them, Pheylan noted, were carrying the well-remembered riflelike weapons. The tall Zhirrzh snarled something, and the two guards took up positions flanking the doorway, weapons angled just over the occupants' heads. Thrr-gilag said something, was answered by the tall Zhirrzh. Again Thrr-gilag spoke, gesturing. "Is there a problem?" Pheylan asked loudly into the conversation.

For a moment the tall Zhirrzh eyed him with what was probably a glare of some sort. Then, with a contemptuous-sounding noise, he spat something. "He asks you to be silent," Thrr-gilag translated.

"Why should we?" Pheylan demanded. The tall Zhirrzh was looking around the room now, his eyes searching the tables and miscellaneous human and Zhirrzh equipment in a way Pheylan didn't like. "We're involved in this too, you know. We deserve to know what's going on."

"Please be silent," Thrr-gilag said, his tone sounding urgent. "He is Mnov-korthe, agent of the Overclan Seating, and he has command here now. You will merely get us into trouble—"

He broke off, his tail twitching again. Mnov-korthe's roving eyes had abruptly stopped. With two long strides he stepped to the equipment table off to Pheylan's right, pulling away a rumpled piece of material from Pheylan's jumpsuit leg to reveal the short, slender cylinder that Melinda had hidden there. The cylinder she had earlier had hidden inside the vital-signs monitor.

Pheylan shifted his gaze to his sister. Her face was rigid, her eyes wide with the dismayed awareness of imminent disaster. Slowly, as if deliberately playing to the sudden tension in the room, Mnov-korthe picked up the cylinder. He turned to Thrr-gilag, lifting it triumphantly in front of him—

And then, through the open door, came the hard thunder crack of a distant explosion.

Mnov-korthe spun around toward the door, barking something to the guards and flicking his tongue toward the dusky village landscape outside. The last part of his speech was punctuated by three more explosions, this group coming in rapid succession. Pheylan hoisted himself back up into a sitting position, trying to look past the Zhirrzh to see if he could tell where the blasts were coming from. He couldn't; but even as one of the two guards stepped out through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of two ghosts outside. No doubt reporting on the explosions—

And then another ghost appeared directly in front of Mnov-korthe. It was their ghost, Prr't-zevisti, the one who'd been carrying their messages back and forth.

The other unarmed Zhirrzh who'd come in with Mnov-korthe shouted something, jabbing his tongue out at the ghost. Mnov-korthe took a step backward, then stepped forward again directly into and through the ghost, saying something and waving the cylinder emphatically. Thrr-gilag said something, jumping forward and making a snatch at the cylinder. But Mnov-korthe was faster, taking a quick step to the side and deflecting Thrr-gilag's rush with his free hand. Klnn-dawan-a started toward him, but the unarmed Zhirrzh caught her arm and pulled her to his side. Recovering his balance, Thrr-gilag tried again; again Mnov-korthe took a step back, easily batting his flailing hands away. From outside came a sudden flurry of noise and alien shouts—

"Melinda Cavanagh," the ghost called, his thin voice barely audible over the noise. "He must stop!"

Pheylan had no idea what the ghost meant, and he doubted that Melinda understood the situation any better than he did. And if he'd had the chance, he would have warned her to keep out of it.

But he never had the chance. Suddenly, to his dismay, Melinda broke away from where she stood rooted to the floor and threw herself toward Mnov-korthe.

Again the Zhirrzh was too fast. He twisted away like a cat, her hand missing his wrist by bare millimeters. Off balance, she lunged for him with her other hand; again he evaded her. Out of the corner of his eye Pheylan saw the second guard swing back into the room, his hand fumbling up the barrel of his rifle.

And suddenly Melinda's arms slammed to her sides, her legs snapped together, and she toppled toward the floor.

Mnov-korthe made no effort to cushion her fall, jumping back instead out of her way as she crashed to the floor with a grunt of pain. The Zhirrzh spat something, waving at the guards with one hand and pointing down at her with his tongue. The guards lowered their rifle barrels toward her—

And clenching his teeth, Pheylan launched himself off the side of his table toward Mnov-korthe.

His feet hit the floor, a jolt of pain from his broken leg lancing straight up to his skull despite the numbing effect of the anesthetics. His arms snaked around the Zhirrzh's torso and neck, and he yanked back, pinning Mnov-korthe solidly against his chest.

And nearly lost his grip an instant later as the Zhirrzh's left foot swung violently backward to slam against his broken leg, turning the throbbing ache into a red-tinged blaze of agony. Pheylan swore viciously, tightening his grip, resisting the sudden urge to break the alien's neck. A subtle movement in Mnov-korthe's right shoulder warned him, and he snaked his right hand down the other's arm just as the Zhirrzh's hand emerged from a waist pouch gripping a small hand-weapon-sized object. Twisting them both to the left, he slammed Mnov-korthe's wrist onto the edge of the table, then whipped the arm down and to his right, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. "Guns up!" he snarled toward the guards. "Thrr-gilag—tell them!"