"As far as I know, there's nothing between here and the Myrmidon Platform at Granparra," Cho Ming said. "Certainly nothing that could get here in time to intercept that assault fleet."
"If the assault hasn't already started," Daschka pointed out. "For all we know, this could be the second wave. Might explain why the ci Yyatoor was so anxious to get us out of here. Check the wake-trail detector-see if you can pick up anything farther out."
"Right," Cho Ming said, swiveling to face one of his other keyboards. "I hope we've got Yycroman freighter tachyon trails on file. If we don't, this is going to be a little tricky..."
He trailed off. Aric glanced over at him, paused for a closer look. The man's face had gone suddenly tight. "What is it?" he asked.
Cho Ming took a deep breath. "Daschka, I think we can scratch the Mrachani-attack theory. We've got... looks like ten or eleven ships incoming." He turned to look in Daschka's direction. "Conqueror ships."
There was a long, brittle silence. Aric looked forward, too, seeing only the top of Daschka's head above his headrest against the darkening sky as the schooner headed for space. "You sure?" Daschka asked at last.
"Positive," Cho Ming said. "Unless someone loaded us the wrong baseline back at Edo."
The top of Daschka's head nodded slowly. "ETA?"
"About ninety minutes," Cho Ming said. "Wait a minute. I'm picking up something else now. Slightly different vector but still incoming... good God."
"What is it?" Daschka demanded.
"I don't know," Cho Ming said, frowning at the display. "We've got nothing like it in the baseline file. Looks big, though. Huge. I've got to get a copy of this."
"You think it's a new type of Conqueror ship?" Aric asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
"I hope not," Cho Ming said as he keyed his board. "If they've got something that big, we're in very serious trouble."
"Maybe it's a Yycroman warship," Daschka put in. "We found out a month or so ago that they still have a couple stashed away."
Aric gazed at the wake-trail, a sudden thought belatedly occurring to him. A Conqueror invasion force ninety minutes out from Phormbi meant the Yycromae must have detected them nearly half an hour ago. "So that's why the ci Yyatoor let you take me," he murmured, half to himself. "She knew they were coming and wanted us out of here before they arrived."
"Afraid she's going to be disappointed on that last," Daschka grunted. "Cho Ming, we've got seventy or eighty minutes to get someplace where we can watch without getting trampled. See what you can find."
"We're not leaving?" Aric asked.
"And miss the chance to see what happens when a Yycroman warship takes on the Zhirrzh?" Daschka snorted. "You must be kidding."
"We know what'll happen," Aric retorted. "The Yycromae will get cut to ribbons."
"All the more reason to stay and watch," Cho Ming said. "If the Yycromae lose, there may not be anyone left here to report on the battle."
"That's a cheery thought," Aric growled. "And you think the Conquerors will just let us make our recordings and leave?"
"With luck they'll never even know we were here," Cho Ming assured him. "This ship can be rigged for sensor-stealthing that's just a hair short of what Peacekeeper watchships get."
Aric grimaced. "So we're just going to sit out here and watch the Yycromae get slaughtered."
"If you'd rather join in the fight, we can take you back to the ground," Daschka offered, turning half around to look at Aric over the edge of his chair back.
Aric looked away, anger and frustration and guilt all tugging at him. Anger at Daschka's and Cho Ming's coolly detached attitude toward the coming slaughter. Guilt at the way he'd been so prematurely quick to misjudge both Klyveress's character and her motives in letting the two Intelligence agents take him away.
And frustration at his inability to make the proper and honorable decision.
Because it was obvious what that decision should be. The Yycromae weren't ready to face the Conquerors-not by a long shot. His two hands would be of only limited help in their race against the clock, but offering that help was still the right thing for him to do. Pheylan would certainly have done so if he'd been there. Melinda was apparently trapped on Dorcas because she'd made a similar decision. How could he do less?
Because he was afraid. That was the bottom line: he was afraid. He'd already risked his life once to rescue his brother, and that time he'd gotten away with it. Risking himself again-not for family but for virtual strangers-would be tempting fate in a way he somehow couldn't bring himself to do.
Yet down deep he knew that it was what heshould do. And hadn't his parents always taught him that personal comfort or safety should never interfere with doing the right thing?
"Hold everything," Cho Ming said suddenly, peering at his displays and keying a switch. "Got some small asteroid fragments in low planetary polar orbit-probably leftovers from some mining operation. What do you think?"
"Not bad," Daschka agreed. "None of them are big enough to hide behind, but skulking along in the middle of the group ought to do nicely. How far away are they?"
"About five minutes at full throttle," Cho Ming said. "Or we can take fifty and do a minimum-fuel course. Your choice."
"Never spend fuel if you don't have to," Daschka admonished him. "Especially heading into a situation like this. Minimum-fuel it is." There was a lurch, and Aric found himself being pressed into his seat by acceleration. "Offer withdrawn, Cavanagh. You're stuck here for the duration."
"I'd gathered as much," Aric murmured. So that was that. The decision had been made, its weight and guilt taken away from him.
But still he had hesitated. And somehow he knew that that hesitation would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The Mrachani receptionist's iridescent hair stiffened briefly before laying down again across his neck and shoulders. "I'm afraid you were misinformed, Monsieur Marchand," he said apologetically. "Ambassador-Chief Valloittaja is on meditation-retreat and will not be seeing visitors for the foreseeable future."
"Oh," Bronski said, his face and shoulders sagging slightly in a nicely underplayed gesture of disappointment. "I'm of course pleased for the Ambassador-Chief, but... There can be no exceptions?"
"None at all," the Mrachani said, his voice rich with regret and commiseration. "I'm very sorry for your disappointment."
"But our work was done specifically for him," Bronski persisted, gesturing to Cavanagh. "At the Ambassador-Chief's own request, Signor Fortunori has been developing a business plan for his family. We have nurtured this plan through to its birth and are eagerly anxious to present it to him. This is most frustrating to us."
"I understand both your eagerness and your frustration," the Mrachani said, his fur stiffening again. "Perhaps a meeting with one of the Ambassador-Chief's kinsmen would serve your purpose."
"It would not substitute, but it might be useful," Bronski agreed reluctantly. "Can you tell me how to locate one of them?"
"Certainly." The Mrachani busied himself at his terminal, and a card popped out of the slot beside Bronski's hand. "I have listed the names and contact information for three of the Ambassador-Chief's closest kinsmen," he said as Bronski took the card. "I trust one of them will be able to assist you."
"Only if he can persuade the Ambassador-Chief to see us," Bronski sighed, motioning Cavanagh and Kolchin toward the door. "Thank you for your concern, and may your family flourish."
The three of them left the building and headed back out into the street again. "I hope you realize what a chance you were taking in there," Cavanagh murmured to Bronski as they headed down the walkway toward where they'd parked their rented groundcar.
"It wasn't all that big a chance," the brigadier assured him. "I supervise Mrach operations, but I haven't personally been here on Mra in several years. Besides, distinguishing between humans is as hard for most Mrachanis as distinguishing between them is for us. Most of them aren't up to the challenge."
"So what did all this prove?" Kolchin asked.
"Ambassador-Chief Valloittaja is easily the leading Mrach expert on dealing with alien races," Bronski said. "If he's suddenly and mysteriously missing, I'd say we've found our thread to whatever this game is they're playing."
"Why is it necessarily mysterious?" Cavanagh asked. "I thought meditation-retreats were pretty standard among the Mrach elite."
"They are," Bronski said. "But they're strictly a yearly ritual. Valloittaja had his three months ago."
"I see," Cavanagh said. "So what now? We tug on the thread and see where the seam unravels?"
"I'd like to avoid anything quite that obvious," Bronski said. "Nine times out of ten, when you start tugging on threads they either break or you find out they're tied to something with a lot of teeth at the other end. No, let's try tracking along the thread first. We'll start with these three kinsmen and try to get some idea where Valloittaja might have gone."
"Just a second," Cavanagh said, touching Bronski's shoulder as a display in the window they were passing caught his eye. The sign, in ten languages, announced it to be a visitor information center. "Wait here; I'll be right back."
He was back with them two minutes later. "Did you ask them where Valloittaja was?" Bronski asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"No, we didn't get around to that," Cavanagh told him. "It occurred to me that whatever the Mrachanis are up to, their plan might require large tracts of isolated territory." He held up his new collection of cards. "So I picked up some travel-and-vacation brochures."
Bronski smiled tightly as he took the cards. "Not bad," he said approvingly. "Not bad at all. Kolchin, you're driving. Let's get back to the ship."
They had left the capital's central district and were in sight of the spaceport tower when Bronski looked up from his plate. "You did it, Cavanagh," he said with a grim satisfaction. "Here it is:Puvkit Tru Kai -the Garden Of The Mad Stonewright. Two months ago it was a public park and recreational area."
"Suddenly closed for renovation?" Kolchin asked.
"Nothing so obvious," Bronski said. "It's still listed. Only it's listed at the wrong place."
Cavanagh blinked. "Come again?"
"They've changed its location," Bronski said. "Or, rather, its alleged location. What they're calling the Garden now is a fairly minor group of rock formations about two hundred kilometers farther north. Close enough to the real one that most people looking at the brochure won't even notice the difference; far enough away that any visitors will be safely out of the way of whatever's happening there."
"So what's our next move?" Cavanagh asked.
"We take a closer look at the real Garden, of course," Bronski said, fiddling with the controls of his plate. "Let's see. We'll take the ship over to Douvremrom-that's about three hours away if we go suborbital. Then another three hours by rented aircar, and we'll be there."
Cavanagh frowned over the brigadier's shoulder. Three hours by aircar was a pretty healthy distance. "Aren't there any closer spaceports?"
"Of course there are," Bronski said, turning off his plate and sliding it back inside his jacket. "The Garden's got one of its own, in fact. What's convenient about Douvremrom is that it's listed on this other card as the home of one of Valloittaja's kinsmen."
"Ah." Cavanagh nodded understanding. "Which means that if anyone's bothering to track our movements, they should conclude we're going there to see him."
"Oh, they'll be tracking us, all right," Bronski said. "If not now, then the minute we cross whatever invisible circle they've drawn around the Garden and their little Conquerors Without Reason project."
And there would be Bhurtala waiting for them in the darkness.... "What do we do then?" he asked, suppressing a shiver.
"We'll go with standard procedure," Bronski said. "We find out what we can and get the hell out."
"Always nice to have a plan," Cavanagh murmured.
"Don't worry about it," Bronski soothed him. "In a pinch I've still got that fake red card I used on you back in Mig-Ka City. It would take a pretty high-level Mrachani not to be intimidated by that."
Cavanagh grimaced. "High-level Mrachanis like Valloittaja, for instance?"
"Well, yes," Bronski conceded. "There is that."
19
Most of the Yycroman freighters had reached their prescribed positions well within that first hour. With their drives cut they were drifting now, the nearer ones discernible only by the gaps they made in the starfield beyond, the farther ones not even that visible. A handful of drive trails still blazed as last-minute additions to the defense force scrambled to get to their places. Beneath the drive trails Phormbi's nightside had become an unrelieved black as the scattered clusters of Yycroman settlements shut down lights and power sources to deny the enemy such obvious targeting indicators.
The battle lines were drawn. And the Conquerors were on their way.
"Looks like they're about ready out there," Daschka commented over his shoulder. "Are we?"
"As ready as we can be," Cho Ming said. "Power output is at minimum, sensor-stealthing is fully operational, and I've got all sensors and recorders running."
"Conquerors' ETA?"
"Anytime now," Cho Ming said. "We'll get about ten seconds' warning when they start their mesh-in, but that's about it. A ship this size just hasn't got enough hull for a wake-trail detector that'll work on close-in targets."
The flight deck fell silent again. Seated in the copilot seat where he would have a better view of the approaching battle, Aric gazed out the canopy, listening to his heart pounding in his ears. There was a gentle thud against the side of the ship, and he jerked violently against his restraints before realizing that theHappenstance had merely brushed against one of the slowly rotating asteroid fragments they were nestled up against.
"Take it easy, Cavanagh," Daschka said quietly from beside him. "You don't want to burn out all that tension before things even get started."
"Sorry." Aric exhaled, the breath vibrating through his mouth. "I was hoping to be a little calmer than this."
"A little calmer might be nice," Daschka agreed. "But don't overdo it. A certain amount of tension's normal in combat situations. It's good for you-keeps your senses and reflexes sharp."
"Okay-here we go," Cho Ming spoke up. "Mesh-in in ten seconds."
"Double-check the recorders," Daschka ordered, flexing his fingers once and resting them in ready position on his control board. "What about that big unidentified ship?"