"I can't reach him," Prr't-zevisti said. "He's inside the Human's metal aircraft."

"What about the warriors guarding him?"

"Both are Dhaa'rr," Prr't-zevisti said, his voice sounding distracted. Listening to what was happening on Dorcas. "Mnov-korthe is ordering his brother Mnov-dornt to be put in command. Ordering Second Commander Klnn-vavgi to be put in detention with Commander Thrr-mezaz—"

He jerked suddenly. "He's ordering the warriors to raise Thrr-gilag to Eldership!"

"Get back there," the Prime snapped. "Order them not to obey."

Prr't-zevisti was already gone. "Overclan Prime," Thrr't-rokik breathed. "My son—will he—?"

The Prime looked at him. For perhaps the first time really looked at him. At that pale Elder face, echoing a lifetime of simple honest labor. A face that had no doubt been filled with shame for his wife when the fsss theft he'd helped to organize had branded her a criminal. A face now filled with anxiety for the danger his son was in.

Back when all of this had started, the previous Primes had insisted that it was sometimes necessary for individuals to be sacrificed for the greater political good. Distantly, the Prime wondered if any of them had ever had to face the individuals they had so sacrificed.

"ETA, twelve minutes," Takara reported. "We'll be in range of those outer laser installations in ten."

"Understood," Holloway said. "Stand by."

"Yes, sir."

He gazed out the canopy at the scattering of lights ahead marking the Zhirrzh encampment, a small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Melinda Cavanagh was not going to approve of this at all. Considering her feelings toward the Zhirrzh in general and Prr't-zevisti in particular, in fact, she might well decide to hate him for what he was about to do.

But, ultimately, that didn't matter. It was her life that was at stake here, and her brother's life, and the lives of a lot of good Peacekeepers. And if the loss of her respect was the price he had to pay to protect those lives, then so be it.

"Activate," he ordered.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the two Zhirrzh warriors turned their weapons away from Pheylan. Melinda sighed with relief—

And gasped as the muzzles turned to line up instead on Thrr-gilag. "Wait!" she shouted. "No. Stop!"

"It is too late, Melinda Cavanagh," Thrr-gilag said. He drew himself up, his corkscrewing tail slowing down as he apparently accepted the inevitable.

"Wait," Melinda pleaded, twisting her head around to look at him more fully. "Tell him we'll make a deal. If Pheylan lets him go—"

And then, to her horror, Thrr-gilag suddenly gasped, a violent convulsion running through his body. Twisting at the waist, he bent over to one side and toppled to the floor.

"No!" Melinda gasped. She wrenched her head back around toward the other Zhirrzh—

To an incredible sight. Klnn-dawan-a was on her knees, only Klnn-vavgi's slack grip on her arm keeping her from collapsing completely. Klnn-vavgi himself was gripping the edge of the table with his other hand, swaying back and forth as if suddenly gone drunk. The two warriors were similarly staggering, leaning on their laser rifles for balance.

And then Prr't-zevisti screamed, a bizarre, unearthly sound... and abruptly Melinda understood.

"Pheylan, get their weapons," she called. "Quickly."

Mnov-korthe was twisting dizzily in his grip; shoving him aside, Pheylan hobbled across to the warriors. Wrenching one of the weapons away, he touched something on the barrel, and suddenly Melinda was free of the grip pinioning her arms and legs. She scrambled to her feet as Pheylan relieved the second warrior of his weapon. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

"Holloway put a white-noise radio transmitter in the vital-signs monitor," she said, taking one of the rifles from him. "He didn't bother to tell me that he'd set up a remote trigger for it."

"I guess that pretty well proves this Elderdeath-weapon theory," Pheylan said, the beads of sweat on his face evidence of what his trek across the room had cost him. "What now?"

"We shut the thing off, that's what," Melinda said, studying the laser rifle in her hands. She'd seen Holloway's techs demonstrating how it worked....

"No, Melinda Cavanagh. You must not."

Melinda looked up, a shiver running through her. It had been Prr't-zevisti's voice, but so distorted by pain as to be almost unrecognizable. "Prr't-zevisti, I have to shut it down."

"No," Prr't-zevisti said, his transparent face as agonized as his voice. "You must... let it continue. It is the... only way for... you to stop... the attack."

"But I can't let you suffer like this," she protested.

"You have to," Pheylan said, taking the rifle from her hand. "He's right—you've got to get out there and stop Holloway before he wrecks everything. The radio's all that's keeping the Zhirrzh off balance—you won't get ten meters without it."

Melinda bit hard at her lip. But it was hurting them all so horribly— But it's not killing them, she told herself sternly. Neither the Elders nor the warriors. You're a surgeon; start thinking surgical priorities. "All right," she said. "How do I do it?"

"First get out of that obedience suit," Pheylan told her, reaching over to unfasten the suit's neck. "They'll have another trigger for it out there somewhere. Then get over to that aircar parked at the south end of the landing field, the one you said Janovetz came here in. There should be a laser comm built in. You know how to use one?"

"I think so," Melinda said, pulling off the last leg of the suit and shivering as the evening air hit sweaty skin. "What then?"

"Then you say whatever you have to to get Holloway to pull back," Pheylan said grimly.

She looked at Thrr-gilag, clutching dizzily at the floor. "Thrr-gilag...?"

"I will explain to Klnn-vavgi," the other panted. "And the Overclan Prime will also understand. Go. Quickly."

"All right." Melinda opened the door; paused. The radio over there, still blaring its Elderdeath pain... "Give me two minutes," she told her brother. "Then destroy that radio. If I can't stop Holloway, I won't have the Zhirrzh being sitting ducks for him."

Pheylan's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Two minutes. Good luck."

They were perhaps halfway down the hallway leading to the back door they'd entered the fortress by when Kolchin abruptly stopped. "Someone's coming," he whispered, taking a step back and pushing open the door he'd just passed. He glanced in and nodded, and three seconds later they were inside. Kolchin closed the door to a crack, peering out through the narrow gap, and a moment later Cavanagh heard the rhythmic thudding of heavy feet approaching down the corridor. The footsteps passed, faded away— "Valloittaja?" Bronski asked quietly.

"No," Kolchin said, easing the door open and looking out after them. "A different Mrach and two Bhurtala."

Bronski nodded. "Let's hope they're not the guard change."

"Clear," Kolchin said, opening the door the rest of the way and slipping outside.

They reached the tunnel leading to the exit door without seeing or hearing anyone else. There Bronski stopped, peering cautiously down the tunnel. "Well, come on," Cavanagh urged. "What are we waiting for?"

"I don't know," Bronski muttered. "Something feels wrong about all this. It's a little too easy."

"They're planning to kill us," Cavanagh pointed out tartly. "What could they have planned that's worse?"

"Point," Bronski conceded. "All right, let's give it a try." He stepped into the tunnel—

"Lord Stewart Cavanagh."

Cavanagh spun around toward the voice. Thrr't-rokik had finally returned. "Thrr't-rokik!" he said in relief. "We thought something had happened to you—"