Conquerors' Legacy

"I would have to have been comatose not to have known about them," Quinn said. Copperhead Unit Zeta Five was a legend even in the rarefied atmosphere that public opinion reserved for Copperheads in general. They'd been the Peacekeepers' point men on Tal during the brief war against the Bhurtist Independists nine years ago. Even the Bhurtala generally credited Zeta Five's performance with convincing the Independist leaders that their escalating aggression toward Commonwealth citizens would gain them nothing but swift and ignominious defeat. "It was the best Copperhead squadron that ever flew."

  "Won't get any arguments from me on that," Dreamer agreed. "Unfortunately, the new screening procedures bounced three of their pilots into noncombat jobs. Samurai's brother among them."

  "I'm sorry." Quinn looked across the room, to where Dazzler and the rest of Clipper's squadron were mingling with tentative sociability with the other Copperheads, Samurai remaining conspicuously and scornfully aloof. Like Samurai, Dazzler too had had a brother dropped from Copperhead training by the new psychological restrictions. Unlike Samurai, Dazzler had come to realize that the cut had saved his brother from a life he wasn't suited for and didn't really want. "I don't suppose it matters that it might have saved his brother's life."

  "Not to Samurai," Con Lady said. "Life means less to him than personal honor."

  "But don't worry about him," Adept said. "He'll be fine once we get down to business. Anyway, the tac coordinator will sit on him if he gets out of line." Dreamer pointed over Quinn's shoulder. "Speaking of whom, here he comes now."

  Quinn turned to look and for the second time in two minutes found his eyebrows lifting in surprise. The middle-aged man striding between the tables toward them-"Iniko!" he said, scrambling to his feet.

  "Welcome aboard, Maestro," Wing Commander Iniko Bokamba said, his voice gravely official, his expression just short of a grin. "It's good to see you again."

  "Likewise," Quinn assured him as they gripped hands. "When did they call you back to active duty?"

  "About six hours after I sent Clipper off to join your quixotic rescue mission," Bokamba said, his grin turning into a wry smile. "I was sure they'd tumbled to the falsified orders and were there to haul my aged hide in front of a Peacekeeper firing squad. But luckily I kept my mouth shut; and lo and behold, all they wanted was to put me back in uniform. Congratulations on your success in finding Commander Cavanagh, by the way. All of you."

  "Thank you, sir," Quinn said. "I'm relieved you didn't get into trouble over your part in it. They never even mentioned your name at the hearings-I was afraid they'd buried you away in a hole somewhere."

  "Oh, they did," Bokamba countered, waving a hand around him. "What do you think the job of tac coordinator is, anyway? Glorified pack-mother, that's all. They might at least have given me something to fly."

  "Uh-oh," Con Lady said, getting to her feet. "I sense a long reminiscence of past days of glory coming on."

  "Me, too," Dreamer agreed as she and Adept also stood up. "Definitely guy talk. You'll excuse us?"

  "If we must," Bokamba said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "It's sad, Maestro. These young folk-no deference to their elders. Have you ladies studied tomorrow's practice schedule?"

  "We've gone over it twice," Dreamer said.

  "Go over it again," Bokamba ordered. "All of you. I'll see you in the ready room at oh-five-thirty tomorrow."

  "Right." Dreamer winked at Quinn. "Welcome to the slave shipTrafalgar, gentlemen. See you tomorrow."

  "Good-bye," Clipper said with a nod.

  The women threaded their way back between the tables and chairs, pausing to chat briefly with others along the way. "I'm surprised to see women aboard," Quinn commented, waving Bokamba to one of the vacant chairs. "Especially considering theTrafalgar's mission."

  "Yes," Bokamba said, gazing down at the tabletop as he traced imaginary lines on it with a finger. "I must admit to certain personal reservations about women in combat positions. Particularly expeditionary forces like this one, as opposed to home or national defense. Cultural prejudices; I doubt you of NorCoord would understand."

  "We do try to maintain a degree of chivalry ourselves, you know," Clipper reminded him. "Still, cultural biases or not, the Commonwealth's not in any position to play favorites. If the Zhirrzh are going to be stopped, it's going to take everything we've got."

  "I suppose so." Bokamba looked up again. "Speaking of which, Adam, may I say how personally pleased I am that you've decided to rejoin the Copperheads? I'm looking forward to working with you again."

  "Thank you," Quinn said. "I'll do my best to justify your confidence in me."

  "I'm sure you will," Bokamba said with a mischievous smile. "Especially since I'll be riding tail for you tomorrow."

  Quinn frowned. "They told me on Edo that they'd be providing me with a new tail man."

  "He's supposedly on his way," Bokamba said. "Presumably he'll get here before we actually leave for Zhirrzh space. Until then I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He leveled a finger at Quinn. "All the more reason for you to show up tomorrow knowing what you're doing."

  "Translation: get ourselves back to the ward and start learning the maneuvers?" Clipper suggested.

  "Exactly," Bokamba said. "And take the rest of your squadron with you."

  "Right," Clipper said, standing up. "Come on, Maestro. Mom says we have to study."

  Bokamba shook his head. "These young folk," he sighed. "No deference to their elders."

  There was no signal Aric was able to see or hear; but suddenly one of the two Yycroman males guarding the unmarked door shifted his rayslicer to point at the ceiling. He snapped his snout, clicking the long rows of teeth together. [Son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh,] he said. [You are summoned. Come.]

  "Thank you," Aric said, standing up and stepping to the door, his heart pounding in his ears. He'd dealt with Yycromae before, certainly, in the normal course of CavTronics business operations. But never like this. "May I ask-?"

  [You are summoned,] the male repeated.

  Aric nodded silently, all the stories he'd ever heard about Yycroman males and their hair-trigger tempers flashing through his mind. The first male opened the door and stepped through. Aric followed, the second male falling in behind him.

  He'd expected the door to lead into an audience chamber. To his mild surprise it opened instead directly onto a stone staircase leading downward. The first Yycroma led the way down and into a maze of narrow corridors, connecting with and branching off from theirs at seemingly random angles. A few minutes later they reached the end of a corridor and another door. The Yycroma opened it; lifting his rayslicer again, he stood aside. Swallowing, Aric stepped through the door.

  And out onto the observation platform of a huge underground hangar.

  He stopped just inside, gazing down in amazement at the perhaps fifty Yycroman freighters laid out in neat rows stretching back across the brightly lit work floor. Hundreds of Yycromae were moving purposefully around: carrying loads and driving lifters, working singly or in pairs beneath or on top of the freighters, conversing briefly in small groups before scattering their separate ways. The air was filled with the rumble of conversation, the flickering flash of welding torches, and the smell of hot metal and chemical affixers and sealants. The whole scene had the surreal atmosphere of a giant anthill populated by furry biped crocodiles.

  Furry biped crocodiles busily converting freighters into warships.

  There was no doubt about that. Those smooth multiple-cylinder modules being attached to some of the freighters' undersides were clearly space-to-space missiles. Probably of Russian or Nadezhdan manufacture-he could see Cyrillic characters on the spares stacked on the floor beneath his observation platform. Some of the ships were being fitted with antiquated but still lethal Celadonese shredder-burst guns; others already had ultramodern NorCoord 110 mm cannon mounted to them. Targeting lasers were all over the place, as were numerous oddly shaped modules Aric had never seen before but which were marked with Yycroman lettering.
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  [You are the eldest son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh?]

  Aric jumped, spinning around to his left. A Yycroman female stood there, dressed in the elaborate ceremonial helmet and tooled cloak of a high-ranking government official. Flanking her were yet another pair of armed Yycroman males. "Yes," he acknowledged. "I'm Aric Cavanagh."

  [I am Klyveress ci Yyatoor,] the female identified herself. [Twelfth Counsel to the Hierarch. I welcome you to the Yycroman world of Phormbi. I and the Yycroman people are in your debt.]

  Aric grimaced. This was about to get very sticky. "No, actually, ci Yyatoor, I don't think you are in my debt," he said.

  Her face changed subtly. [What are you saying?] she demanded. [That you did not bring the command/switching modules I requested?]

  "I'm saying that, legally, I can't give them to you," Aric told her, knowing how ridiculous the words probably sounded. A lone human surrounded by Yycromae on one of their own colony worlds was hardly in a position to make lofty pronouncements of NorCoord law. "The Pacification treaty explicitly forbids NorCoord citizens from supplying items to the Yycromae that could be used for military purposes. This room makes it abundantly clear that that's precisely what you want the modules for."

  [Your concerns are understandable,] Klyveress said, pulling a plate from a back-rib pouch. [But unnecessary. Your father has formulated an arrangement.]

  "Yes, your message implied as much," Aric said. "I was rather expecting to find him aboard the diplomatic ship you sent for me, in fact. But he wasn't there, and I don't see him here."

  [True. He is not here.]

  "But hewas here once," Aric countered. "He had to be. Your message to me came addressed to Asher Dales-that isn't a name you could have come up with on your own." He gestured toward the freighters. "What happened? Did he figure out what you were doing?"

  [There was no need for figuring,] Klyveress said, offering him the plate. [It was he who helped create what we are doing. Please-read.]

  Warily, Aric took the plate. It was opened to some kind of legal-looking NorCoord document. "What's this?" he asked.

  [Read,] the ci Yyatoor repeated. [The information contained here is not yet public knowledge. Indeed, it may never be so. But you must be made an exception.]

  Aric looked down at the plate, hoping he was just imagining the ominous overtones in that last sentence, and began to read.

  There were two documents in the file. The first was a guarantee of Yycroman intent to use the warships they were creating exclusively for self-defense against the Conquerors. The second was a statement of Peacekeeper understanding that granted the Yycroman Hierarch this one-time exemption from the rearmament prohibitions of the Pacification treaty.

  Aric read through the guarantee, carefully studying the form of the legal/contractual language. By the time he reached the end, it came as no surprise to discover his father's signature among those attached. He also noticed with some interest that the document had a signing date three days after the meeting his father had had on Mra-mig with Assistant Commonwealth Liaison Bronski-the same period, according to Bronski, when he and Kolchin had vanished from sight. The statement of understanding was next, which turned out also to have been signed by his father. As well as by-

  Aric looked up sharply."Brigadier Petr Bronski?" he asked.

  [That is correct,] Klyveress said. [As you see, it is all very legal.]

  "That wasn't what I meant," Aric said, a sudden knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Bronski, a senior Peacekeeper officer... and suddenly his father's disappearance had taken an abrupt and ominous turn. "My father hasn't been seen for nearly-well, apparently not since these were signed."

  [Do not fear, Aric Cavanagh,] Klyveress said. [I have seen him since then. He and his guard, Kolchin, escaped from Brigadier Bronski on Mra-mig, returning here in an appropriated Mrach fighter spacecraft.]

  "Escaped?" Aric echoed, the knot tightening another turn. "What happened with Bronski that he needed to escape?"

  [I do not know,] Klyveress said. [He would say nothing other than that he was fleeing involuntary confinement. My suspicion is that it concerns the CIRCE weapon.]

  "I see," Aric murmured. Had his father somehow learned where one of CIRCE's components was hidden? Or worse, found out where the weapon was being reassembled? Either one would have had Bronski immediately issuing quarantine orders.

  But why had his father chosen to run from that? "What happened then?"

  [We could not permit him to remain in Yycroman space,] Klyveress said. [Our relationship with the hierarchy of NorCoord is already overly strained. He asked then if I could exchange his fighter spacecraft for one less traceable. I expressed our need for CavTronics electronics modules, and he agreed to send them to me as payment.]

  The ci Yyatoor snapped her snout. [But he did not. Yycroman Intelligence made quiet inquiries, but they could find no record of his reaching Avon.]

  "Then where is he?"

  [I do not know. Perhaps he changed his mind and chose a different hiding location.]

  "He still would have tried to get you the modules he'd promised," Aric said, shaking his head slowly. "And there are CavTronics facilities everywhere. Sounds more to me like Bronski got him."

  [Perhaps,] Klyveress said. [But do not deduce too much from his silence. Perhaps he is still free but for some reason unable to fulfill his promise.]

  "Maybe," Aric said, trying to calm the vague fears swirling through him. Even if Bronski had him, surely it was just some kind of precautionary confinement. His father wouldn't do anything that would land him in really serious trouble. "So when the modules didn't show up, you decided I could bring them to you?"

  [Yes,] the ci Yyatoor said. [Yycroman Intelligence reported that you were on Edo, and so I dispatched a diplomatic ship to bring you here.]

  "Sending a message via skitter first so I'd have time to get the equipment together," Aric nodded. "Had Dad given you the Asher Dales name to use?"

  [No, it was a location he had mentioned as a possible hiding place after he reached Avon. I took the chance that NorCoord Intelligence would not associate you with that name.]

  "Why were you worried about NorCoord Intelligence?" Aric asked, eyeing her thoughtfully. "I thought all this was completely legal."

  [It is legal. It is not widely known.]

  "Or, in other words, Bronski's the only one in the Peacekeepers who knows you've been granted a rearmament exemption?"

  The ci Yyatoor's claws scratched idly at the air. [You exaggerate, Aric Cavanagh. But not overly much.]

  "Ah," Aric said, looking again at the bustling activity below them. At least that explained why Bronski had been on Edo-he'd probably gone there to brief Admiral Rudzinski on this private treaty he and Klyveress had worked out. A belated official approval-stamping, Aric suspected, of what the Yycromae had been doing anyway.

  [What will you do now?] Klyveress asked.

  Aric turned back to face her. There'd been something new in her tone just then.... "Go back to Avon, I suppose," he said. "With my father gone I'm more or less in charge of CavTronics Industries. I ought to be there."

  [And what of the war?]

  "What of it? Are you suggesting I enlist instead?"

  [No,] the ci Yyatoor said. [I am asking for your assistance here.]

  It was not exactly what Aric had been expecting. "What sort of assistance?"

  Klyveress waved her snout at the hangar. [We have found that command/switching modules of the sort you have provided are often difficult to interlock,] she said. [Even more so when coordinating otherwise unmatched weapons systems.]

  "I know," Aric said. "Celadonese and Nadezhdan logic structures are notorious for incompatibilities. You need to be careful how you tailor the overlays."

  [You are familiar with the problem,] Klyveress said. [Will you help us?]

  For a long minute Aric remained silent, gazing into Klyveress's dark eyes, mentally fighting through this sudden shift in his worldview. He'd grown up believing that
the Yycromae were the most dangerous threat to peace within the Commonwealth, a threat that only the presence of Peacekeeper forces could restrain. And now here he was, being asked to help rearm them.

  But the real danger out there right now was the Conquerors. And the Commonwealth needed all the allies it could get. "All right," he told Klyveress. "I'll do what I can."

  "The three searchers have left the room," the Elder reported. "They're being led toward the tunnel leading to the hangar and theClosed Mouth."

  The Overclan Prime nodded, tongue pressed hard against the side of his mouth as he gazed at the map of Human-Conqueror territory. The map that had been reconstructed from the recorder salvaged from that first space battle with the Human-Conquerors. The map they'd thought listed all the enemy targets to be dealt with.