"There are several who have nothing but contempt for this kind of clan politics," he assured her. "As soon as Melinda Cavanagh has freed my cutting from the confines of this box, I'll go find them."

"And try not to let anyone else see you," Thrr-gilag warned, "if word gets back to Mnov-korthe before anyone back home knows about you, we could still lose it all."

With a final tug Melinda Cavanagh's hand emerged from the box with the sampler—

And suddenly Prr't-zevisti's face was infused with the most amazing expression of pure joy that Thrr-gilag had ever seen. "Thrr-gilag—my fsss—"

And without another word he was gone.

" 'All is quiet here, Overclan Prime,' " the Elder quoted. " 'There have been no attempts by anyone to enter your private chambers.' "

"Thank you," the Prime said. After that hilltop conversation with Thrr-tulkoj and Thrr't-rokik he'd decided that that possibility was reasonably remote. Still, it never paid to underestimate the subtlety of one's enemies. "Keep alert." He nodded to the Elder. "You may close the pathway."

"I obey, Overclan Prime." The Elder vanished.

The Prime adjusted his position on his couch, gazing out the transport window at the dark landscape rolling by beneath them and feeling like a contact juggler trying to handle five crystal orbs at once. The situation on Dorcas had some serious political implications; but the question of possible Mrach duplicity had a far greater potential for widespread disaster. As soon as he got back to Unity City and secure Elder pathways, he would have to contact Warrior Command and let them know what was happening on Mra.

After that he would have to get hold of Speaker Cvv-panav on Dharanv. Let him know about the Mrachanis and hint to the Speaker that he knew what the other was up to on Dorcas. Perhaps the time was right to strike another deal.

An Elder flicked into view across the transport's darkened cabin. Yet another bored and nosy Elder from the shrines below, no doubt, checking out the group of aircraft flying by so late. The Prime opened his mouth to suggest that the Elder leave—

And to his surprise the Elder's initial expression of relief and joy turned suddenly into terror. "What in—?" he gasped, looking frantically around him. "Where—how—?"

"Can I help you?" the Prime asked.

The Elder darted over to him, his eyes clinging to the Prime as if to the last lifeline of a rescue ship. "A Zhirrzh," he said, already starting to sound calmer. "I thought I was—" He broke off, flicking his tongue. "Please—where am I?"

"You're aboard an official transport of the Overclan Seating," the Prime told him, frowning at his face. It wasn't anyone he recognized. "I'm the Overclan Prime. Who are you?"

Another jolt of emotion passed across the Elder's face. "The Overclan Prime?"

And then, abruptly, he straightened up into full warrior posture. "Overclan Prime, I am Prr't-zevisti; Dhaa'rr," he said formally. "I have recently been released from captivity among the Humans on the world called Dorcas.

"And I have a vitally urgent report to make to you."

"Sara died soon after that," Lord-stewart Cavanagh said, those drops of liquid running from the corners of his eyes again. "For a long time after that I wasn't interested in doing much of anything."

"I understand," Thrr't-rokik said, bittersweet memories of his own drifting across his mind. Only half a cyclic since he'd been raised to Eldership, but already it sometimes felt as if this were the only life he'd ever lived. "I felt much the same after I was raised to Eldership. I stayed at the shrine by my fsss and did little else."

"That's not the same at all," Lord-stewart Cavanagh said, moving his head back and forth. "You speak as a Human might who had lost a hand or a leg. You were still there, but simply no longer had a body. Your wife and children could still see and talk to you."

"If they so chose," Thrr't-rokik said quietly. "Thrr-gilag was across the stars at his studies when I was raised to Eldership and could not come to be with me." He hesitated, the pain edging through him again. "My wife, Thrr-pifix-a, did not wish to see me this way at all. She moved away from our home, too far away for me to reach her."

"I'm sorry," the other said. "Some Humans handle shock better than others. I imagine it's the same for Zhirrzh."

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "But it is not only that. For her—"

He broke off as a new voice swept suddenly through his mind. "Thrr't-rokik?"

It was the voice of one of the protectors at the Thrr-family shrine, the sound being transmitted directly to him through his fsss. "I have to go, Lord-stewart Cavanagh," he said. "I will return."

He flicked back to Oaccanv and the shrine. It was latearc there, with the stars twinkling faintly down from the sky. "I'm here," he said, remembering just in time to switch back to the Zhirrzh language.

"Protector Thrr-tulkoj wants to speak with you," the protector said. "He said he'd be waiting where you last met."

"I understand," Thrr't-rokik said, frowning. Trouble? "Thank you." He flicked along his anchorline to the hills west of Cliffside Dales—

Thrr-tulkoj was indeed waiting on the hill for him. So, to his surprise, was the Overclan Prime and an unidentified Elder. "I'm here," Thrr't-rokik said. "Is there trouble?"

"There is disaster," the Prime said bluntly. "You said you had listened to those Human-Conqueror prisoners on Mra. Can you talk to them as well?"

"I believe I can," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously. Did the Prime know he'd violated the ban on communications with the Humans?

"Good," the Prime said. "I need you to ask them a question. A vitally important question."

"So," Bronski said quietly from across the room. "You two having a nice chat?"

Cavanagh looked over at him, maintaining his mental count. Thrr't-rokik had been gone for nearly two minutes now. "What?"

"You and Thrr't-rokik," Bronski said. "You've been getting on together like a house on fire."

Cavanagh cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were asleep."

Bronski shrugged. "Light sleeping is a habit you pick up in the commandos. Right, Kolchin?"

"Right," Kolchin's fully awake voice came from the other cot. "What do you think, sir?"

"About Thrr't-rokik?" Cavanagh shrugged. "My gut feeling is that he's sincere, that this isn't some sort of trick. Though I presume Bronski thinks differently."

"Not necessarily," Bronski said, his voice thoughtful. "We're seeing evidence that the Mrachanis are masters of this sort of verbal maneuvering; but, then, what else have they got? They can't fight, so they have to win with words and chicanery. The Zhirrzh, on the other hand, have one hell of a war machine. They don't need to use psychological trickery."

"Though subtlety and hardware aren't necessarily incompatible," Kolchin pointed out. "A lot of aggressor regimes have used both."

And then, suddenly, Thrr't-rokik was back. "Lord-stewart Cavanagh, I have an urgent question from the Overclan Prime," he said, his voice sounding oddly strained. "He wishes me to ask you if Human spacecraft communicate with below-light energy."

Cavanagh blinked. "With what?"

"With below-light energy," Thrr't-rokik repeated. "Wait."

He vanished again. "Any idea what below-light energy is?" Cavanagh asked the others.

"Infrared?" Bronski asked doubtfully. "Some of our short-range comm lasers use that."

"Or does he mean radio?" Kolchin suggested. "Radio signals have a lower frequency than light waves."

Thrr't-rokik reappeared. "It is called radio," he said. "Is this below-light energy?"

"I suppose you could call it that, yes," Cavanagh agreed. "We do use radio for some communications. Who is this Overclan Prime?"