Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

"Yes, Ship Commander," Thrr't-rokik said humbly.

"Good. Now get going."

"I obey, Ship Commander," Thrr't-rokik said, and vanished, embarrassment and self-disgust mixing on his tongue at his blunder. That much about warriors he did know.

He flicked to the entry hatchway again. The two passengers were waiting inside, their travel bags dropped on the deck at their feet, their expressions beginning to show signs of impatience. "The ship commander bids you welcome," he told them. "You'll be quartered in Stateroom Four, Hexagon Two, and he'll speak with you later."

"Fine," the taller Zhirrzh said. "Which way?"

Thrr't-rokik hadn't the faintest idea, but fortunately he'd anticipated the question. The beat his message was delivered, he dropped deep into the grayworld. With good luck the two passengers would assume he'd merely dashed off on other business and hadn't heard their question.

But whether they assumed that or not, he had no time to waste. He'd found them, and he was not going to let them get away from him.

He flicked back to Thrr-tulkoj, standing unobtrusively among the bustling activity and pretending to check a stack of containers against a list board some careless inspector had left lying around. "I've found them," he murmured to the young protector.

"Where?" Thrr-tulkoj murmured back, still checking the numbers.

"Two ships over," Thrr't-rokik told him, pointing to his right. "They've just gone aboard as passengers on a ship named the Willing Servant. Small ship, only four hexagons."

"Probably a supply ship," Thrr-tulkoj said. "Any idea where it's headed?"

"No," Thrr't-rokik said. "I talked to them, but—"

"You talked to them?" Thrr-tulkoj cut him off. "Right up where they could see you?"

"It's all right, they didn't recognize me," Thrr't-rokik assured him. "The problem is that I wasn't able to find out their names."

Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue. "We absolutely need to get those names. Any idea how soon they'll be lifting?"

"No, but I got the feeling it'll be soon," Thrr't-rokik told him. "The control area was very busy."

Thrr-tulkoj nodded grimly. "Well, there's nothing for it, then. I'll just have to go aboard."

"Aboard a Dhaa'rr warship? You can't be serious."

"It's a Zhirrzh warship," Thrr-tulkoj corrected him. "Warrior Command is unified, remember?"

"Trust me, this one's all Dhaa'rr," Thrr't-rokik insisted. "You think Speaker Cvv-panav would trust his agents to just any ship?"

"They're the Speaker for Dhaa'rr's personal agents?" Thrr-tulkoj frowned. "They said that?"

"Not in so many words, but he's the one who sent them here," Thrr't-rokik said. "The ship commander implied he'd spoken personally with the Speaker about them."

Thrr-tulkoj flicked his tongue savagely. "I knew the Speaker was involved in this. I knew it."

"The ship commander didn't know their names, either," Thrr't-rokik said. "So far as we know, no one in this entire landing area may know their names."

"Are you suggesting we give up?"

"No," Thrr't-rokik said, flicking his tongue in a negative. A decidedly nervous negative. "I'm suggesting that our best chance now is to somehow stow away my fsss cutting on that ship."

Thrr-tulkoj's midlight pupils contracted to slits. "Are you insane?" he hissed.

"Probably," Thrr't-rokik conceded. "But it's the only way. Someone in the eighteen worlds has to know who these two Zhirrzh are. One of us has to be there when that person calls them by name, and I'm the only one who can do that."

Thrr-tulkoj's tongue stabbed out in impotent frustration. "It's wrong," he said flatly. "It's just plain wrong. I'm the protector here. I'm the one who's been trained; I'm the one who's supposed to take these risks."

"You can't take this one," Thrr't-rokik said. "Not unless you want to enlist as a Dhaa'rr warrior. Besides, I'm an Elder. What can they do to me? Come on, we're wasting time."

The hatchway on the third hexagon of the Willing Servant was standing open, with a loader stacked with shipping containers pushed up against a protruding conveyor ramp. Two Zhirrzh were by the conveyor, laboriously transferring the containers from the loader onto the ramp. "Take a look inside the containers on the loader," Thrr-tulkoj murmured as he walked toward the ship. "Find out what's in them. Don't let anyone see you."

"Right." Thrr't-rokik flicked out to the containers, wove in and out of them, flicked back. "The four on the bottom contain packaged food," he told Thrr-tulkoj. "The two on top nearest the ship are optronic modules and parts. The two rear ones are medical supplies."

Thrr-tulkoj nodded. "Looks like they're going into a war zone."

"What out there isn't a war zone?" Thrr't-rokik countered, fighting back the growing rattle of nervousness. After all, what could they do to him? "How are you going to get my cutting aboard?"

"I've got an idea." Thrr-tulkoj hesitated. "I'm going to have to take the cutting out of its box, though. It'll be completely unprotected. Can you handle that?"

Thrr't-rokik snorted. "It's not as if it's overly protected now," he reminded the protector.

"It can be damaged," Thrr-tulkoj reminded him. "It can decay, get attacked by animals or insects, maybe even get crushed or burned. Whatever happens to it, you'll feel everything."

Thrr't-rokik had already thought about the possibilities. Hearing them listed aloud wasn't helping. "Let's get on with it."

"All right," Thrr-tulkoj said. "But if you change your mind at any point—"

"Let's get on with it."

Thrr-tulkoj lowered his list board to his waist and under its cover dipped the fingers of his left hand into his waist pouch. Thrr't-rokik heard the click as he opened the small box; felt a flood of warmth and a vaguely unpleasant pressure as the protector picked up the thin sliver that was his fsss cutting. The pressure changed, becoming decidedly oppressive, as he maneuvered the cutting to a secure but hidden grip at the juncture of finger and thumb. "Here we go," Thrr-tulkoj murmured. "Stay out of sight."

He picked up his pace, striding confidently up to the loader. "Good fullarc," he said briskly to the two Zhirrzh. "I've come for a final cargo check."

"You're a little late," one of the workers said, the last word coming out as a grunt as he and his partner lifted one of the Optronics containers off the loader. "We're nearly finished."

"Besides, it's already been checked once," the other added.

"I know that," Thrr-tulkoj said in a patient tone tinged with just the right edge of official exasperation. "That's why it's called the final check. Shut off that conveyor and let me up." Without waiting for them to comply, he reached up, grabbed hold of the railing, and swung himself up toward the hatchway—

And with a startled curse dropped back to the ground, the palm of his right hand welling with blood.

"What happened?" one of the Zhirrzh yelped.

"What do you think?" Thrr-tulkoj snapped back. "I cut my hand. Shut it off, blast it."

They had already set the container hastily back down again, and now one of them grabbed for the control switch. "How bad is it?" he asked anxiously as the conveyor slowed to a stop.

"Bad enough," Thrr-tulkoj said, wincing dramatically as he peered at the blood. "I caught it on the flange edge. I told you to shut it down."

"You didn't give us a chance," one of the workers objected. But to Thrr't-rokik the words sounded automatic, with no real conviction behind them. Someone had gotten injured at their workstation, and no matter whose fault it was, it was going to reflect badly on them. "Let me call an Elder and get a healer over here."

"Don't bother the healers," Thrr-tulkoj said, peering briefly at his list board and then setting it down on the Optronics container. "I can handle this. Get that end container open."