Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

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 itself 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....