28

Commander Sps-kudah flicked his tongue impatiently. "Searcher, we can't simply sit here in safety and let our allies be destroyed," he snapped. "Whatever this CIRCE thing is he's talking about, it must be something terrible to get them so worked up."

"Your warriors will remain with us here in the Closed Mouth, Commander," Nzz-oonaz said, trying to keep his own tail and his resolve steady. The pleading was wrenching at him, too, but he still suspected this was nothing more than the Mrachanis' response to his bringing all of the Zhirrzh into the ship. A trick to lure them outside again; and he wasn't going to fall for it.

But if it wasn't a trick, and if the Human-Conquerors were really about to use CIRCE on them...

An Elder appeared. "We've completed our search of the rooms and corridors around the hangar," he reported. "There are no signs of Mrach warriors or obvious attack preparations."

"There—you see?" Sps-kudah said. "Now can we slash this misdirected paranoia and get our warriors outside and in defensive positions?"

"Two aircraft approaching, Commander," another Elder reported tightly. "Flying low and fast from the west toward the fortress."

Another Elder flicked in. Nzz-oonaz glanced at him; it was Thrr't-rokik. "Searcher Nzz-oonaz, I have a message from the Overclan Prime—"

"Not now," Nzz-oonaz snapped. "Can't you hear the alarms? The Human-Conquerors are attacking. Maybe even with the CIRCE weapon."

Thrr't-rokik gaped. "The Human-Conquerors are attacking?"

"Elder, what about those aircraft?" Nzz-oonaz called, turning away from him.

"Still incoming," the Elder said.

"Has Warrior Command been alerted?" Nzz-oonaz called. "Who's talking to Warrior Command?"

"I have a pathway to them," another Elder called back. "They're requesting more information on the situation."

Nzz-oonaz slashed his tongue in frustration. By the time the Elders finished their briefing, it might well be too late.

Or rather, it was already too late. "Aircraft still incoming," an Elder snapped. "Five beats away."

"Seal that hatchway!" Nzz-oonaz snapped. "All Zhirrzh, prepare for attack." With good luck maybe the hull would protect them. Silently, he counted the beats down to zero—

Nothing happened.

Nzz-oonaz continued his count, looking around in bewilderment. Everyone in the control room, physicals and Elders alike, seemed fine. "Elders, check the ship," he ordered.

The Elders vanished. "Perhaps that was just a surveillance check," Commander Sps-kudah suggested darkly. "They may be coming back to use the weapon on us."

"Or maybe they already have," Nzz-oonaz said, his tail spinning hard with delayed reaction. "Maybe our hull and the cliffs above us were able to block its effect."

An Elder appeared. "No one has been hurt, Searcher Nzz-oonaz," he reported. "There is also no obvious damage to the Closed Mouth."

"Go check on those aircraft," Sps-kudah ordered. "See if they're coming back."

"I obey."

"One way or another, Searcher, we need to move the ship out of this hangar," Sps-kudah said.

"If we can," Nzz-oonaz said, looking at the external monitors. The doors the Mrachanis had used to seal the hangar looked pretty strong. If they couldn't persuade the Mrachanis to open them, he'd have to send warriors out to do it the hard way—

"Searcher!" an Elder gasped, appearing in front of him. "Searcher, we're sealed in. We can't get out."

"What?" Nzz-oonaz demanded. "What do you mean?"

"There's a metal barrier covering the cliff over the hangar," a second Elder said, popping in beside the first. "It's very thin—I checked the edge. But it covers the entire hangar. And it blocks all anchorlines to Zhirrzh space."

Nzz-oonaz looked at Sps-kudah, a horrible taste oozing beneath his tongue. So that was what the aircraft out there had been doing. An attack, all right, but like nothing he would ever have expected. "They've figured it out," he said, the words coming out mechanically. "And they've locked us in."

"Yes," Sps-kudah murmured. "And with our anchorlines blocked..."

He didn't finish the sentence. But he didn't have to. With their anchorlines blocked the Mrachanis could now destroy them all at their leisure. Not just raise them to Eldership, but destroy them.

And no one would ever know what had happened.

"CIRCE?" the Overclan Prime murmured. "You're sure that's what he said? CIRCE?"

"I think so," Thrr't-rokik said, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to control it, the taste of dread collecting beneath his tongue. What in the eighteen worlds was this CIRCE that it could provoke such a reaction from the Overclan Prime himself? "I might have misunderstood."

"No, CIRCE's the word, all right," the Prime said, gesturing peremptorily to Oclan-barjak. "Commander, have you gotten through to Warrior Command yet?"

"I have a pathway open to them now," Oclan-barjak said, jogging back toward him from the transport's hatchway. "No response yet."

An Elder appeared. " 'Warrior Command to the Overclan Prime,' " he quoted. " 'We confirm: Searcher Nzz-oonaz has warned that use of CIRCE against the Mrach study group is imminent.' "

"And?" the Prime said. "Come on, Communicator, snap to it. Get me a report."

"I obey," the Elder gulped, and vanished.

"Overclan Prime?" Thrr't-rokik spoke up gingerly. "If you want, I could go back to Mra and find out what's happening."

"You'll stay here until we have more information," the Prime growled.

Thrr't-rokik drifted away, the dread growing more bitter by the beat. Was whatever was happening back there his fault? His unauthorized talk with Lord-stewart Cavanagh—could that have been the cause of this?

And then the Elder was back. " 'We've lost all contact with the Closed Mouth,' " he quoted, his voice trembling with emotion. " 'All at once, with all the Elders still at their cuttings aboard.' "

For a handful of beats the only sound on the hilltop was the whistling of the latearc breezes through the trees. "What about the Elders who went to Mra with the supplies from the Willing Servant?" the Prime asked.

"They're still checking the list," the Elder said. "They'll know in a hunbeat."

Prr't-zevisti came over beside Thrr't-rokik. "What's all this about?" he asked quietly, motioning him away from the Prime.

"I don't know," Thrr't-rokik said as the two of them drifted a few strides away across the hilltop. "But I'm very much afraid that I've helped betray the Zhirrzh on Mra."

Prr't-zevisti seemed to ponder that. "No," he said. "No, I don't believe that. Melinda Cavanagh has acted most honorably toward me. She has trusted me and helped me at great risk to herself. I cannot believe the father of such a child would use you to betray your own people."

"We hardly know enough about any of these beings to presume how they'll behave," Thrr't-rokik scoffed. But he did feel marginally better. "What's Melinda Cavanagh's condition? Lord-stewart Cavanagh has expressed concern for her."

"She's unharmed," Prr't-zevisti told him. "Her brother Pheylan Cavanagh is injured, but Melinda Cavanagh is a healer and has treated him."

"What about my sons, Thrr-gilag and Thrr-mezaz? Are they all right?"

"Thrr-gilag is all right for now," Prr't-zevisti said, his voice turning ominous. "But Commander Thrr-mezaz has been placed in detention by two agents of the Speaker for Dhaa'rr. I don't know why, but I suspect it has to do with clan politics. And with me."

"Thrr't-rokik?"

Thrr't-rokik looked over to see the Overclan Prime gesturing to him. "Do me a favor," he murmured hurriedly to Prr't-zevisti. "Tell Pheylan Cavanagh that his father is a Mrach prisoner. He's a warrior—perhaps he'll have some ideas."