Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

"Thank you," Cavanagh said. It was still drifting across the ceiling, still watching Kolchin. "Some Mrach trick, you think?"

"Not a chance," Bronski said. "Not inside a solid stone room. They couldn't even retrofit those spy-eyes and mikes worth a damn—they sure haven't hidden a holo projector in here. Besides, look at it. Looks just like a Zhirrzh."

The apparition jerked as if it had touched a hot wire, twisted impossibly, and vanished.

"Whoa—nice trick," Bronski said, looking around. "I guess it understands English, too."

Cavanagh frowned at him. "What do you mean? What understands English?"

"Our friend there," Bronski said, nodding toward the spot where the apparition had vanished. "You never got to read your son Pheylan's report on his captivity, but he claimed he saw something just like that when he was trying to escape. Of course, he was poisoned by his interrogator right afterward, so everyone's been putting it down to a fever hallucination—"

"Just a minute," Cavanagh interrupted, half sitting up before he remembered his camera-blocking duties. "You never said anything about him being poisoned."

"I didn't want to worry you," Bronski said. "Anyway, it wasn't all that important. The interrogator used his tongue poison to knock Pheylan out during the escape attempt."

"And you didn't consider that important?" Cavanagh demanded. "It could have killed him."

"Yes, I imagine that's what the Zhirrzh had in mind," Bronski said patiently. "But the Copperheads got there first and were able to neutralize the stuff. He was completely recovered before they even got to Edo."

"You're sure of that?"

"The doctors double-checked just to make sure," Bronski assured him. "The point is that he reported having seen one of those ghost things. Come to think of it, your other son, Aric, reported hearing voices screaming near a pyramid thing they found on an otherwise deserted planet."

"Did he see anything?" Kolchin asked.

"No, he just heard voices," Bronski said thoughtfully. "But right about that same time two Zhirrzh warships apparently changed course from several light-years away and came roaring to the rescue."

Cavanagh's mind was still back on Pheylan's poisoning. "So what does it mean?"

"I don't know," Bronski said, still sounding thoughtful. "We don't know if the voices and the ghosts are even connected. But if they are, maybe we've stumbled on a clue to the Zhirrzh long-range communication system." He shrugged. "Or maybe it's nothing at all. Maybe the Zhirrzh just like ghost stories so much they made them real."

"That's certainly a pleasant thought," Cavanagh said, looking around. The phantom was still gone.

Or rather, it still wasn't visible. But, then, it hadn't been all that visible before; and according to Bronski, Aric had heard voices without seeing anything. Could the ghost still be there listening?

He looked around again, his skin on the back of his neck tingling uncomfortably. The thought of a culture with real ghosts was a distinctly unsettling one.

Yet if Bronski's guess was right, they might be sitting on the secret of the Zhirrzh interstellar communication here. If they could somehow draw it out... "Hello?" he called softly. "Can you hear me? My name is Lord Stewart Cavanagh. I'd like to talk to you."

"You're wasting your time," Bronski said. "They're the Conquerors, remember? Mass killers. They're not interested in talking to their victims, just killing them. Like that interrogator who tried to kill your son Pheylan Cavanagh."

Cavanagh frowned at him. Bronski wasn't simply lashing out in frustration—there was a distinctly calculating expression on his face as he looked around. Was he trying to goad the ghost into reappearing?

And then, not half a meter away, it did.

Cavanagh jerked back, bumping the back of his head against the stone wall. His lips moved, forming words, but the breath needed to make actual sounds was frozen in his lungs as all the dark fears of humanity's past flooded in on him. The spectral, alien face stared at him for what seemed forever—

"You father of Pheylan Cavanagh?"

Cavanagh blinked. The words had been English. Mangled, distorted, but still English.

"Go on," Bronski prompted softly. "Answer him."

Cavanagh flicked a glance over—no, through —the face in front of him. Bronski was still lying on his cot, but his face and body were tight and alert. To Cavanagh's left Kolchin had paused in his work, his eyes set in the icy expression of a bodyguard facing an unknown but potentially dangerous situation.

He focused again on the transparent face. "Yes," he said, the words finally making it out. "I'm Lord Stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

"What's your name?" Bronski put in.

The ghost ignored him. "Thrr-gilag not try kill Pheylan Cavanagh," he said. "Try only stop him leave."

Cavanagh looked at Bronski. "Thrr-gilag was the chief Zhirrzh interrogator," the brigadier said. "He's the one who poisoned Pheylan."

"Not try kill him," the ghost insisted.

"All right," Cavanagh said soothingly. "If you say so."

"You tell me now," the ghost said. "Why Pheylan Cavanagh not raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership?"

Cavanagh looked at Bronski. "Eldership?"

"The Elders are a segment of Zhirrzh society," Bronski told him. "Leaders or something, maybe—Pheylan had the impression they were important. That's all we know."

Had Pheylan's escape ruined this Thrr-gilag's chances for promotion? "Pheylan did what he had to do," he said carefully to the ghost. "Surely if Thrr-gilag had been a prisoner, he would also have tried to escape."

"No," the ghost said, an insubstantial tongue darting out as if for emphasis. "I not speak of escape. I speak of raise to Eldership. Why Pheylan Cavanagh not do that?"

"I don't understand," Cavanagh said. "What did Pheylan do?"

"Not what he do," the ghost said. "What he not do. He not do this." The transparent hands lifted up, closed around his own transparent neck. "Not do this."

Cavanagh shook his head helplessly. Charades had never been his strong point, even within his own family. Trying to figure out the gestures and body language of a totally alien being was going to be well-nigh impossible.

"He's miming strangulation," Kolchin said suddenly. "Or else neck breaking."

"You're right," Bronski agreed. "And Pheylan mentioned that—said he had the interrogator in a neck lock when he hauled him into the Mrach ship. He's asking why Pheylan didn't kill him."

"That can't be," Cavanagh argued. "He just said that—"

And abruptly it hit like a faceful of ice water. Eldership—death—the ghost hovering in front of him—

He took a careful breath. "You're an Elder," he said.

The ghost's head twitched in a not-quite nod. "Yes."

A dense silence seemed to settle into the room. Cavanagh stared at the face before him. "They've conquered death," he heard his voice say. "They've really, truly conquered death."

"Why Pheylan Cavanagh not raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership?"

Cavanagh swallowed hard, trying to gather his wits together. He was asking why Pheylan hadn't killed the interrogator. "I don't know for sure," he said. "Probably because there was no need to. Humans don't kill unless it's absolutely necessary."

"You raise other Zhirrzh to Eldership."

"This war wasn't our idea," Bronski put in. "It was the Zhirrzh who attacked first."

"Not true," the ghost insisted. "Elders say Human-Conquerors attack first."

"Then the Elders are wrong," Bronski said. "We didn't attack first. I know."

The ghost spat something and vanished. Cavanagh waited, but he didn't come back. "Nice job," he said to the brigadier.

"He'll be back," Bronski said, looking around. "We've just shaken his belief in government truthfulness, and he's gone away to think it over. But he'll be back."