The other unarmed Zhirrzh who'd come in with Mnov-korthe shouted something, jabbing his tongue out at the ghost. Mnov-korthe took a step backward, then stepped forward again directly into and through the ghost, saying something and waving the cylinder emphatically. Thrr-gilag said something, jumping forward and making a snatch at the cylinder. But Mnov-korthe was faster, taking a quick step to the side and deflecting Thrr-gilag's rush with his free hand. Klnn-dawan-a started toward him, but the unarmed Zhirrzh caught her arm and pulled her to his side. Recovering his balance, Thrr-gilag tried again; again Mnov-korthe took a step back, easily batting his flailing hands away. From outside came a sudden flurry of noise and alien shouts—

"Melinda Cavanagh," the ghost called, his thin voice barely audible over the noise. "He must stop!"

Pheylan had no idea what the ghost meant, and he doubted that Melinda understood the situation any better than he did. And if he'd had the chance, he would have warned her to keep out of it.

But he never had the chance. Suddenly, to his dismay, Melinda broke away from where she stood rooted to the floor and threw herself toward Mnov-korthe.

Again the Zhirrzh was too fast. He twisted away like a cat, her hand missing his wrist by bare millimeters. Off balance, she lunged for him with her other hand; again he evaded her. Out of the corner of his eye Pheylan saw the second guard swing back into the room, his hand fumbling up the barrel of his rifle.

And suddenly Melinda's arms slammed to her sides, her legs snapped together, and she toppled toward the floor.

Mnov-korthe made no effort to cushion her fall, jumping back instead out of her way as she crashed to the floor with a grunt of pain. The Zhirrzh spat something, waving at the guards with one hand and pointing down at her with his tongue. The guards lowered their rifle barrels toward her—

And clenching his teeth, Pheylan launched himself off the side of his table toward Mnov-korthe.

His feet hit the floor, a jolt of pain from his broken leg lancing straight up to his skull despite the numbing effect of the anesthetics. His arms snaked around the Zhirrzh's torso and neck, and he yanked back, pinning Mnov-korthe solidly against his chest.

And nearly lost his grip an instant later as the Zhirrzh's left foot swung violently backward to slam against his broken leg, turning the throbbing ache into a red-tinged blaze of agony. Pheylan swore viciously, tightening his grip, resisting the sudden urge to break the alien's neck. A subtle movement in Mnov-korthe's right shoulder warned him, and he snaked his right hand down the other's arm just as the Zhirrzh's hand emerged from a waist pouch gripping a small hand-weapon-sized object. Twisting them both to the left, he slammed Mnov-korthe's wrist onto the edge of the table, then whipped the arm down and to his right, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. "Guns up!" he snarled toward the guards. "Thrr-gilag—tell them!"

The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a's arm had already barked an order, and the rifle muzzles had moved uncertainly off their targets. Though not very far off their targets. "Tell them to lay the guns down on the floor," Pheylan said, breathing hard with exertion and trying to ignore the rekindled pain in his leg. He looked along the second guard's barrel, spotted the obedience-suit trigger that the alien had strapped halfway along it. "And have them release Melinda's suit," he added. "Go ahead, tell them."

Thrr-gilag translated. The Zhirrzh holding Klnn-dawan-a flicked his tongue out and said something in return. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi will not so order," Thrr-gilag said, his voice as agitated as the blur of his tail spinning behind him. "He orders you instead to release Mnov-korthe unharmed."

"You know better than that, Thrr-gilag," Pheylan bit out. "We've been here before, you and me, remember? I'm not letting him go."

"It will serve no purpose, Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag said. "Second Commander Klnn-vavgi cannot allow you to escape. The warriors are already gathering; and if you are killed, it will greatly harm the chances for us to stop the war."

Pheylan shook his head. "This is a matter for diplomats, Thrr-gilag. I'm one solitary soldier. I can't stop any wars."

"But the diplomats will not hear unless you take word to them," Thrr-gilag persisted. "We have no direct contact with any other Humans who can tell them."

Pheylan clenched his teeth, uncertainty twisting through his gut. "What was Mnov-korthe ordering just before I grabbed him?"

Thrr-gilag looked down at Melinda, still frozen in place on the floor. "He had ordered the warriors to shoot Melinda Cavanagh."

Pheylan tightened his grip around Mnov-korthe's neck a little. "And you said he was in command here?"

"Yes."

"So if I let him go, and he tells them to shoot her, they will?"

Thrr-gilag hissed softly. "Yes."

"Then I can't let him go," Pheylan told him. "And I won't."

"Pheylan, this is crazy," Melinda said, her voice sounding slurred with her cheek pressed against the floor. "This is a chance to stop the war. You can't throw that away for one life. Not even mine."

"I came here to help you, Melinda," Pheylan said, the words sounding bitter in his ears. He'd certainly done a terrific job of it. "Getting you killed is not exactly how I intended to do it."

"Pheylan, listen—"

"Besides, who says this Mnov-korthe character even wants peace?" he cut her off. "Or that any of the Zhirrzh really want peace? You heard the Overclan Prime—he can't even order the blockade ships over Dorcas to let anyone out."

"That is why we need you alive," Thrr-gilag said. "Through you the Overclan Prime may negotiate a stop to the fighting."

"And that's also why Mnov-korthe will probably order us killed the minute he has the chance," Pheylan told him tightly. "If his boss is one of those who wants the war to continue, killing us here and now is the simplest way to accomplish that." He nodded toward the spot where their ghost had last appeared. "You'd better get word back to the Overclan Prime."

"He has been informed," Thrr-gilag said. "Perhaps he can do something to help."

"Right," Pheylan murmured. But he doubted it. It sounded as if the Overclan Prime was in the middle of a major political fight on this one; and he'd seen enough of his father's own battles in the NorCoord Parliament to know their outcome was never certain. And if the Prime lost this one...

"So what do we do now?" Melinda murmured.

Pheylan looked around the room. "We start by staying calm," Pheylan told her. "We don't want to do anything to provoke them."

"I think I can handle that," she said dryly. "What then?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"All attack units are in the air and in formation," Takara reported tightly. "Transports lifting now, falling in behind. ETA, sixteen minutes."

"Acknowledged," Holloway said, gazing out the aircar canopy at the hills rolling by beneath them. Ahead, the last glow of sunset was fading from the sky, leaving a hyphenated layer of purple clouds behind it. "Have Vanbrugh and Hodgson lifted yet?"

"Their Corvine's lifting now," Takara said, pressing his headphone closer to his ear. "Gaining altitude. Base reports no enemy response yet."

Holloway grimaced. It was a terrible risk, sending one of their irreplaceable Corvines into the free-fire zone of the Zhirrzh blockade like this. But it was a risk that had to be taken. "Have there been any more explosions in the enemy camp?" he asked.

"Just those four," Takara said. "The spotters think they've located the affected building, at one of two centers of increased enemy activity."

"Probably means they had Janovetz and the Cavanaghs split up," Holloway said. "You have both centers marked?"