Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

"Yes, I know," the Prime said grimly, running through in his mind the Elders' description of the hangar area where the Closed Mouth had been hidden. Scooped out of the base of a solid stone hill, it wasn't going to be an easy place to make a quick exit from.

Especially since he seemed to remember that the Mrachanis had positioned the ship in such a way that its lasers couldn't be brought to bear on the hangar door. Odd that no one had noticed that before now.

Thrr't-rokik returned. " 'Understood, Overclan Prime. I'll alert the others immediately. Will you be returning to Unity City now?' "

The Prime glanced around the dark hills, curves of darkness against the blazing stars overhead. There was certainly no reason for him to stay here once this pathway was closed. A potential Mrach attack had nothing political about it, which meant Nzz-oonaz's usual pathways should be adequate for the situation. Besides which, the pathways he had available back at the Overclan Complex would be better for getting to the bottom of whatever was happening on Dorcas.

And yet, there was something about this situation....

He flicked his tongue impatiently. Vague feelings were not something to base policy decisions on. Certainly not vague feelings generated by the shifting winds and shadows on top of a hill at latearc. "Yes," he said. "Let me know via the usual pathways when everyone's aboard the Closed Mouth."

" 'I obey, Overclan Prime,' " the reply came a few beats later.

"Good luck." The Prime nodded. "All right, Thrr't-rokik. Go ahead and close the pathway."

"I obey." Thrr't-rokik hesitated. "Overclan Prime, what about the three Human-Conquerors?"

"What about them?"

"What if the Mrachanis decide to kill them before launching their attack on the Closed Mouth?"

"Again, what about it?"

"Well, shouldn't we do something to stop it?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"They're our enemies, Thrr't-rokik," Oclan-barjak reminded him. "The more of them that die, the better it is for us."

"I'm not talking about death in warfare, Commander," Thrr't-rokik said stubbornly. "This would be flat-out murder."

"Of alien creatures who started a war—"

The Prime cut him off with a gesture. "I understand your concern, Thrr't-rokik," he said. "As a matter of fact, I do indeed sympathize. But I don't see what we can do to help. Not without some of Nzz-oonaz's warriors risking premature Eldership."

Thrr't-rokik's tongue flicked out. "What if they didn't start the war?" he asked. "Would that make a difference?"

The Prime frowned. "We've been through all this before, Thrr't-rokik. Who have you been talking to?"

An unreadable expression flicked across the translucent face. "My son, Thrr-gilag, has always wondered about that," he said. "He said Pheylan Cavanagh seemed so sure."

"The issue has been laid to rest," the Prime said, putting some ice in his voice. "The Human-Conquerors attacked first; and unless you want to challenge the honesty of the Elders who were at that first battle, I don't want to hear anything more about it. Understood?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik muttered.

"Good," the Prime said. "Then I thank you for your assistance. Go back to Nzz-oonaz and have him keep me informed of his situation."

"I obey."

The Elder vanished. "Thank you for your assistance, too, Protector," the Prime said, looking at Thrr-tulkoj. "I trust you understand that what has transpired here is to be kept totally confidential."

"Of course," Thrr-tulkoj said. "If you'd like, I can keep myself available in case you need to talk to Searcher Nzz-oonaz through Thrr't-rokik again."

The Prime eyed him, the other's name belatedly clicking. Thrr-tulkoj: the Kee'rr protector who'd been on duty the latearc when Speaker Cvv-panav's agents stole Thrr-pifix-a's fsss organ from the Thrr-family shrine. He probably had a good deal of time on his hands right now. "Yes, that's probably a good idea," he said. "Go back to where you were in Cliffside Dales. If I need you or Thrr't-rokik, I'll contact you there."

"I obey," Thrr-tulkoj said. With a nod he passed through the ring of warriors and headed down the hill toward his transport.

Oclan-barjak threw the Prime a lopsided smile. "You're just an old soft-tongue, Overclan Prime," he said quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

"Everyone needs to feel needed, Commander," the Prime said tiredly. "Come on, let's go home."

Two other Elders were just flicking away as Thrr't-rokik returned to the Closed Mouth. "There you are," Nzz-oonaz said. "Did the Overclan Prime have anything else?"

"Just that you were to keep him informed," Thrr't-rokik said.

Another Elder appeared. "Svv-selic and Gll-borgiv have been alerted," he reported.

"You warned them not to move too quickly?"

"Yes," the Elder confirmed. "Don't worry, I gave them some tips on how to do quiet evacuations—I handled such maneuvers myself a few times during the Etsiji occupation. The Mrachanis will never notice anything amiss."

Nzz-oonaz grunted. "I hope not. Take some other Elders and go monitor the Mrachanis' movements. Thrr't-rokik, you go back and keep an eye on the Human-Conquerors."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said. He moved along his anchorline, and a beat later he was back in the Human-Conquerors' cell.

Nothing had changed since his last time there except that all three Human-Conquerors were stretched out on their cots now. Their eyes were closed; apparently, they were asleep.

He drifted briefly outside the room. Standing across the hallway from the door, positioned where he could see anyone attempting to leave, was an amazingly wide-bodied alien of a sort Thrr't-rokik had never seen or heard of. Obviously, a guard.

He drifted back into the cell, disturbing uncertainties tugging at him. The Overclan Prime had been so certain that the Human-Conquerors had started this war. But the Human-Conqueror on the cot over there had been equally certain that they hadn't. As had Pheylan Cavanagh, according to his son Thrr-gilag.

Someone was lying, or else someone was wrong. But who?

"Hello."

Thrr't-rokik started at the soft voice, dropping reflexively toward the grayworld. One of the Human-Conquerors, the one called Cavanagh, had awakened, his eyes searching the area Thrr't-rokik had just vanished from. "I won't hurt you," the alien added, his voice even softer here in the grayworld. "I just want to talk."

Thrr't-rokik hesitated. But why not? "About what?" he asked, mouthing the alien words with difficulty as he rose again to the edge of the lightworld.

"There you are," the Human-Conqueror said. "My name is Lord-stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

"I know," Thrr't-rokik said. "You said that already."

"Yes," the Human-Conqueror said. "Do you have a name?"

Again, why not? "I am Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. Thrr-gilag is my son."

The alien's eyes seemed to grow larger for a beat. "Thrr-gilag's father. I'm honored to meet you."

"Why did you come to this place?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"We don't trust the Mrachanis," the Human-Conqueror said. "We came here to find out what they were doing."

"Why don't you trust them?"

"Because we now know they have lied to us many times," the alien said. "May I ask a question?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously.

"What are you?" the Human-Conqueror asked. "What I mean is, what are the Elders? Are you the (something) of the dead?"

Thrr't-rokik eyed him, thinking furiously. What should he say? Everything about the Elders, even their very existence, was supposed to be kept a black secret—he'd lost track of how many times the language instructors and warrior commanders on the Willing Servant had pounded that into them.

But on the other side, he'd already slipped up by giving away his existence to Lord-stewart Cavanagh and his companions. And besides, these particular three would soon be dead. "We are Zhirrzh whose physical forms have failed," he said, hoping he was getting enough of the words right. For some reason, understanding the Human-Conqueror language was considerably easier than speaking it. "We're anchored to our fsss organs, which are stored at the family shrines on Oaccanv."