Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

There was a long moment of silence. "Thrr-gilag, tell your brother to order his warriors not to fire on the human aircars," she said hurriedly. "Or at least not unless fired on themselves."

"I obey." Thrr-gilag spoke rapidly to his brother, who stepped back to the hatchway. Melinda glimpsed a group of Elders gathered there around him—

"This makes no sense at all, Cavanagh," Holloway's voice came back. "You haven't got authority to make deals with the Zhirrzh."

"So court-martial me," Melinda retorted. "But damn it all, don't attack."

There was another long pause. Melinda clenched her hand into a fist— "I'll tell you what," Holloway said at last. "I'm still not buying this yet; but what I'll do is order my troops not to fire unless fired upon. If you can persuade your new friends down there to do likewise, that ought to show enough good faith on both sides to try to sort this out. Fair enough?"

Melinda's hand opened up again, the fingers trembling with reaction. "Very fair, Colonel. Thank you. As a matter of fact, the commander here has already given his troops that same order."

"Then we're in business," he said. "I presume you're going to want me to come down there and talk about this?"

"Please. And bring a full medical pack with you—Janovetz has taken some Zhirrzh tongue poison."

"Acknowledged," Holloway said. "We'll be down in three minutes."

"All right," Bronski muttered. "Here we go."

"Wait a second," Cavanagh told him, glancing around. Kolchin was nowhere in sight. "Kolchin's not in yet."

"Don't worry, we're not going anywhere," Bronski assured him. Reaching to the control board, he touched a switch—

And hovering just inside the canopy, Thrr't-rokik suddenly stiffened.

"Bronski!" Cavanagh snapped, suddenly understanding. "Thrr't-rokik—"

"I'm sorry, Thrr't-rokik," Bronski said, adjusting the frequency control. "But we don't have a choice here."

"I understand," the Elder said, his face contorted in pain. "Do what you must."

Bronski nodded. "This is Bronski," he called. "Code four; condition red; situation red. If you're out there, Daschka, get your rear over here fast."

"Daschka?" Cavanagh said, frowning. "Where—I mean how—?"

"Because I left a message drop for him back at the ship, of course," Bronski grunted. "We're hardly amateurs here, Cavanagh. If he got the skitter message at Phormbi, he and Cho Ming ought to be lurking out there somewhere."

"And if they didn't?"

"Then we go to Plan B," Bronski said. "Come on, Daschka, look alive."

There was movement outside. Cavanagh jumped, but it was just Kolchin. "Farewell gift from the Mrachanis," he said, holding up a cluster of blue cylinders with a set of wires attached. "I guess they didn't want to trust in their marksmanship to bring us down."

Cavanagh looked at Thrr't-rokik. "You'd better go check on the hangar," he told the Elder. "See if the Mrachanis have finished planting their explosives yet."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik gritted, and vanished.

"Daschka, this is Bronski," Bronski called again. "Code four."

Again there was no response. "Looks like we've flared out, gentlemen," Bronski said, keying the board. "Plan B: we run like hell."

From behind Cavanagh came the distinctive whine of the engines. "What about the Closed Mouth?" he asked.

"Sorry, Cavanagh," Bronski said, shaking his head. "I don't think there's anything we can do to help them."

And then Thrr't-rokik was back. "Beware, Lord-stewart Cavanagh," he said. "The Mrach aircraft are raising into the air."

"Damn," Bronski bit out. "So much for engine warm-up. Here we go."

"Wait," Kolchin said, touching his arm. "Out there—two o'clock. Incoming."

Cavanagh peered out into the moonlight. Sure enough, a dark shape barely illuminated by the moonlight was lumbering through the sky toward them.

But the Mrachanis were on it. From both sides and over the top of the cliffs the aircraft Thrr't-rokik had identified blazed forward to intercept, assembling into a pair of attack formations as they flew. From a large rock outcropping in the near distance another group appeared, falling into backup position above and between the first two. Like wolves charging toward a tottering elk...

And then, abruptly, a smaller shape burst into view from the concealing shadows beneath the incoming vehicle. It flashed ahead; and as it turned toward the Mrach aircraft, a stray glint of moonlight flickered across it, reflecting off the distinctive black-and-white hull—

"I'll be damned," Bronski breathed. "It's a Corvine. It's a damned Copperhead Corvine."

The attackers' own reaction was immediate and frantic, the confident multipronged attack floundering as the aircraft suddenly recognized what they faced and scurried like mad to get out of the way. But the wolves had met the tiger; and for the wolves it was far too late. The Corvine sliced straight through the center of their formation, its cannon sputtering in all directions with deadly accuracy. Five of the aircraft flashed to vapor in midair, lighting up the sky like a Founding Day fireworks display. Four others survived long enough to hit the ground, turning there into instant bonfires. The rest scattered, clawing for the relative safety of distance.

Bronski keyed the radio again. "Corvine, this is Bronski. There's a hangar door in the fortress about five klicks south of my position. There's a trapped spacecraft inside. Free it."

"Corvine acknowledging," a familiar voice responded. "Is Lord Cavanagh there with you?"

"I'm here, Aric," Cavanagh said, leaning forward toward the mike. Why Aric would be there with Bronski's men... but they could sort that out later. "Hurry with that hangar door. The Mrachanis are planning to bring the mountain down on it."

The Corvine was already driving south. "Hang on," Bronski said, lifting into the air and following. "Thrr't-rokik?"

"They have stopped work," Thrr't-rokik said. "I fear it will be happening soon."

"Let's hope your captain's smart enough to run when the door opens," Bronski said, touching the radio control again. "Seconds count here, gentlemen."

There was no reply; but suddenly the Corvine swooped in close to the cliff wall and rolled ninety degrees to its right. The cannon stuttered again, the shells stitching parallel lines of miniature explosions across the width of the hangar doors. The fighter pulled back and around in a tight curve, swinging around to drive directly at the doors. At the last second it pulled sharply up, the twin flashes of missile launchings sparking toward the doors.

And with a roar and double flash of roiling fire the doors shattered and collapsed.

And through the smoke and still-flaming gas the Zhirrzh ship appeared, its glittering new metal sheathing torn in a hundred places by shrapnel and flying rock. It battered its way out through the opening, its hull scraping repeatedly against the crumbling remains of the door. There was a half-strangled gasp from Aric as the Corvine came around in another tight loop—

"Hold your fire," Bronski barked. "We've got a truce with the Zhirrzh."

"No—let them fire," Cavanagh suggested. "They can't hurt the hull, but it'll help clear off that metal sheathing."

"Good idea," Bronski agreed. "You copy, Corvine?"

"We copy," Quinn's cautious voice came. "Lord Cavanagh?"

"It's all right," Cavanagh assured him. "Your responsibility is to the family, and to obey all family orders."

"Acknowledged," Quinn said.

"We ought to get out of here," Kolchin said. "The Mrachanis may have heavier weaponry in the area."

"Yes," Cavanagh said, looking around and finally spotting Thrr't-rokik. "Thrr't-rokik, what about your fsss cutting?"

"Leave it there," the other said. "It would be dangerous to try to retrieve it now. And the Overclan Prime may wish me to continue observing."