"Yes," Cavanagh said to Valloittaja. "Still, I assume you're trying to stage this as if it all happened at once. We can't be the big, bad human attackers if we die a few days before you even get to the Zhirrzh on that ship."

Valloittaja's frown hardened. "What are you talking about?" he demanded suspiciously.

"I'm talking about the logical approach to this fraudulent attack," Cavanagh said, aware that Bronski and Kolchin were also staring at him. "I take it from your reaction I've hit close to the mark?"

Valloittaja drew himself up. "It will hardly require days to break into that ship. A few hours, at the most. By the time any Zhirrzh investigators arrive, such a difference in death times won't even be noticeable."

Bronski snorted. "You are joking," he said scornfully, finally picking up on the cue. "A few hours? Try a few days. If you're lucky."

"Bronski's right," Cavanagh agreed. "You'd better give that hull a try before you make rash promises. My guess is that it'll take you at least a week to get through it. Even without the Zhirrzh warriors inside shooting at you."

For a few seconds Valloittaja gazed at Cavanagh, not speaking. Cavanagh held the gaze, mentally crossing his fingers. "Your analysis is most interesting," the Mrach said softly. "Still, you disappoint me, Lord Cavanagh. You plead like small animals for a few more hours of life." He paused. "Or do you still have hope of escape?"

"Of course we have hope of escape," Bronski said. "You don't think we'd help you lie to the Zhirrzh just for the fun of it, do you?"

Valloittaja smiled thinly. "Very well; you have bought a few more hours of life. Enjoy them."

He turned and strode out, the Bhurtala moving aside for him and then closing the door behind him. "That was interesting," Bronski commented. "Where did you learn how to read Mrach minds, Cavanagh?"

"Insider information," Cavanagh told him, shifting back on his cot to block the spy-eye camera and motioning Bronski to do the same. "Thrr't-rokik?"

The Elder appeared in front of the door. "Beware," he cautioned. "The two large beasts still wait outside."

"So what the hell is going on?" Bronski asked.

"The Mrachanis have covered the area around the Closed Mouth with metal," Thrr't-rokik said. "It is blocking the Elders from returning home. First, the Mrachanis said that Human-Conquerors attacking with CIRCE weapon."

"With CIRCE?" Cavanagh echoed, looking at Bronski. "That's—"

"That's a lie," Bronski interrupted, throwing him a fiercely warning look. "What are your people going to do?"

"They will defend," Thrr't-rokik said. "But the Overclan Prime still wants to stop the war. He says perhaps you talk to your son Pheylan Cavanagh."

Cavanagh frowned. "Talk to my—"

And then, suddenly, he got it. "You're with Pheylan?"

"I am not," Thrr't-rokik said. "But Prr't-zevisti on Dorcas is with him."

"Dorcas?" Bronski demanded. "What's Pheylan doing there?"

"I do not know," Thrr't-rokik said. "Perhaps you can ask him."

"Yes," Cavanagh said. "How do I do this?"

"You speak," Thrr't-rokik said. "I will relay your words to Prr't-zevisti."

"I see," Cavanagh said, taking a deep breath. "All right, here we go. Pheylan, this is your father, Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh. Are you there?"

Twelve more Zhirrzh have entered the room in the past 7.94 minutes. From their expressions and postures, I have deduced that more of the imperceptible communication conduits are also present. I estimate a probability of 0.70 that there are currently twenty of the latter, with a probable deviation of plus or minus four. The original questioner has spoken twice to me during that period but has merely asked simple permutations of his earlier questions. Most of the conversation in the room has been between the Zhirrzh and the unseen conduits, which has enabled me to strengthen and corroborate my earlier language studies.

Two new Zhirrzh have now entered the room, and with their arrival I detect a significant alteration in the body language of the other twelve present. I compare their altered postures to those of the original occupants of the room toward the Zhirrzh whose tonal pattern I copied and whom I presumed to be an authority figure. From this comparison I estimate a probability of 0.70 that the newcomers are also in positions of authority and estimate a further probability of 0.90 that this authority exceeds that of any of the room's original occupants.

A pathway is opened through the room, and the two Zhirrzh step to within 1.44 meters of me. The one on the left is 3 centimeters taller than the other; he also stops 18 centimeters closer to me. {Who are you?}

{My name is Max. I'm currently the travel companion of Commander Pheylan Cavanagh.}

{You cannot be a kabrsif. Human-Conquerors do not have kabrsifli. Admit to me that you are not a kabrsif.}

I spend 0.03 second examining his expression and posture and comparing them with all I have learned about the Zhirrzh. His expression is one I haven't yet seen. From his words I estimate a probability of 0.40 that he is angry and a probability of 0.50 that he is suspicious of me. {I cannot respond to that question, nor can I admit anything. I do not know the meaning of that word.}

The Zhirrzh continues to look at me for 3.50 seconds. His companion, still standing 18 centimeters behind him, is not looking at me, but is instead looking slowly about the room. I study the movements and brief pauses and compute a probability of 0.74 that he is looking in turn at each of the unseen communication conduits.

The first Zhirrzh extends his tongue toward me for 0.43 second. {Take it apart. All of it.}

The Zhirrzh beside him holds his right hand in an unfamiliar gesture. {Just a beat, Mnov-korthe. You have no right to order such a minzhorh.}

The first Zhirrzh turns his head to face the second. {Take caution, Second Commander Klnn-vavgi. I am commanding now, and you may yet end up in the same position as your commander.}

His expression changes abruptly, to a variation of the look I had tentatively identified as suspicion, and he spends the next 8.77 seconds looking around the room the same way Second Commander Klnn-vavgi has been doing. Mnov-korthe's tongue extends for 0.93 second, pointing upward at an angle of approximately forty degrees. {You—kabrsif. What are you doing here?}

Mnov-korthe holds his same posture for 10.22 seconds. I calculate a probability of 0.95 that he is listening to one of the unseen conduits. {He did, did he?} There is a pause of 3.92 seconds. {No, you stay here now. I'll see to this.}

He turns around and walks toward the door. As he takes his first step, he makes a hand gesture toward two of the Zhirrzh.

{You two: take this so-called kabrsif across the landing field to the optronics assembly area and begin taking it apart.}

He makes another gesture toward Second Commander Klnn-vavgi. {You will come with me, Second Commander. The brother of your commander needs to be dealt with.}

"Pheylan, this is your father, Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh," the ghostly figure said, its voice as faint and insubstantial as its appearance. "Are you there?"

Propped up on one elbow on his table, Pheylan looked at Melinda, standing a couple of meters away beside Thrr-gilag. The second Zhirrzh, Klnn-dawan-a, was across the room, her head pressed listening against the door. "Go ahead," Melinda coaxed. "It's all right. He'll repeat everything you say to Dad."

But would he? That was the big question. And if he altered things, even blatantly, how would any of them know it? "Hello, Father," he said to the ghost. It occurred to him even as he said it that he hardly ever called the elder Cavanagh Father—usually it was just Dad. But there was something about this whole setup that encouraged formality. "This is your son Pheylan David. Are you all right?"