"What's happening on Dorcas?" Bronski interrupted.

"There is still trouble," the Elder said, his words tumbling over each other. "But there is new trouble here. The Mrachanis have wrapped a second metal sheet directly around the Closed Mouth. The Elders are now sealed inside, and I cannot talk to Speaker Nzz-oonaz. They are also putting many objects on the ceiling of the hangar."

"What do the objects look like?" Bronski asked. "Long, narrow tubes?" He demonstrated with his hands.

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "Many of them in a single bundle. And many bundles."

Bronski swore. "Fracture explosives," he said. "Damn it all—Valloittaja's trying to collapse the cliffs above the hangar."

Cavanagh felt his chest tighten. "With the Zhirrzh ship still inside?"

"Yeah, it's called burying your mistakes," Bronski said, starting down the exit tunnel and gesturing the others to follow. "I knew this would be coming—I just didn't figure on the Zhirrzh being able to get another ship here this fast."

"But—oh, God," Cavanagh murmured as it finally clicked. Of course: the Overclan Prime would have immediately dispatched another ship to investigate. It had closed to within six light-years of Mra now, and its distinctive tachyon wake-trail had appeared on the Mrachanis' detectors.

And Valloittaja, whose best efforts had probably not even been able to scratch the Closed Mouth's hull, had decided to settle for a stalemate. "So they're going to drop a million-ton mountain on top of the ship and kill everyone aboard," he said. "And undoubtedly try to blame us."

"Which means," Kolchin said quietly, "those two Bhurtala we saw were probably heading to our room."

"To get us ready for our grand finale," Bronski agreed. "Human bodies to show to the Zhirrzh when they arrive."

They had reached the end of the tunnel now and the door they'd entered the fortress through. "What will you do?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"Try to stay a jump ahead of them," Bronski told him, easing the door open. The cool night wind whistled in through the crack, accompanied by a sliver of pale moonlight. "I'll be damned. Our rented aircar's still out there. Maybe Valloittaja's missed a bet after all." He pushed the door open—

"Hold it," Cavanagh said suddenly, gripping his arm. "They're trying to stage this as a human attack, right? Well, to do that, don't they have to produce human bodies from an aircar wreck?"

"Sure do," Bronski agreed. "My guess is that's why we haven't heard any noise over our escape. They were probably expecting us to demolish that group who just went to get us and make a run for it. Probably why Valloittaja sent one of his stooges instead of coming along himself for last-minute gloating—he didn't want to put his own skin at risk. All we did by taking out our guards was move up the timetable a bit and save them the trouble of herding us out here."

"You mean they want us to get in that aircar and fly away?" Cavanagh asked.

"That's my guess."

"That's terrific," Cavanagh gritted. "So what exactly is this bet you think he's missed?"

"You'll see." Bronski started to push the door open, then paused. "Thrr't-rokik... look, there's a fair chance this isn't going to work. If it doesn't, the three of us are going to die here. In case that happens—"

He took a deep breath, throwing a sour look at Cavanagh. "In case that happens, there's something the Overclan Prime needs to know. The weapon CIRCE that he's so afraid of doesn't exist. Never has existed. Do you understand?"

"I am not sure," Thrr't-rokik said, his expression odd. "The Zhirrzh have read about it. Pheylan Cavanagh spoke of it."

"He was lied to," Bronski said. "All of us were, for a long time. But what I'm telling you now is the truth. The Zhirrzh have nothing to fear from CIRCE, or from the Commonwealth. Make sure the Overclan Prime knows that."

"I obey," Thrr't-rokik said. "I thank you, and I will return your trust to you."

He vanished. "What did he mean by that?" Cavanagh asked.

"No idea," Bronski said. "But we haven't got time to wait and find out. Come on.'

He led the way out into the night. All three of Mra's moons were in the sky overhead, bathing the ground in a pale yellowish light. "What now?" Cavanagh whispered as Bronski moved carefully forward. "We make a run for it?"

"I'm worried about those sentry holes," the brigadier said, nodding toward the flanking rock walls where the Bhurtala had been hidden earlier. "We're only assuming this is what Valloittaja has in mind."

And then Thrr't-rokik was back. "There are three Mrach aircraft waiting around the curve of rock," he said, his tongue flicking to point to the left. "Two more there"—the tongue flicked right—"and five behind the rock above."

"Check over there," Cavanagh told him, pointing to the sentry holes. "Inside holes in the rock. See if anyone's hiding there."

The ghost flicked away; flicked back. "No one is there."

"I could get used to having these guys around," Bronski said dryly. "Go."

They made it to the aircar without incident. Bronski slipped into the pilot's seat and gave the control board a quick but careful scan. He keyed the main power control, and the board lit up with muted light. "Cross your fingers, gentlemen," he said. "Here goes."

"How are you going to evade those Mrachani aircars?" Cavanagh asked.

Bronski threw him a tight smile. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I'm not even going to try."

The roar of approaching aircars was audible as Melinda flattened herself against the side of the Peacekeeper aircar, her breath coming in quick, hot gasps. There were Zhirrzh all across the field, dimly visible in the sunset's fading afterglow. Some were still on their feet, swaying with the disorienting loss of balance the radio was causing; most had already conceded defeat and were lying on the ground twitching. Helpless and harmless.

But that would change. In approximately thirty seconds.

"Cavanagh?"

Melinda jumped. "Who—"

"Janovetz, Doctor," the other identified himself, rolling out from beneath the aircar. He, too, had gotten rid of his obedience suit. "Figured you'd come here if you got free. Where's Commander Cavanagh?"

"He's all right for now," Melinda told him. "We've got to get inside the aircar and tell Colonel Holloway to stop his attack."

"You've got to be kidding," Janovetz said. "Something's happened to all the Zhirrzh—this is the perfect time for an attack."

"I know what's happened," Melinda said. She had a flash of inspiration— "It's a trap."

"I should have guessed," Janovetz muttered. "Come on."

They circled around the aircar's nose to the landing ramp. Two Zhirrzh were twitching on the ground at the foot; passing between them, Janovetz ran up the ramp and ducked through the hatchway. Hopping up behind him, Melinda followed—

And suddenly Janovetz tumbled back out again, flopping with a terrible crash onto his back on the ramp.

"Janovetz!" Melinda gasped, dropping onto her knees at his side. Even in the dim light she could see the dark bloodstain slowly spreading over his chest and shoulder. Reflexively, she reached for a sleeve to tear for a bandage, stopped with a curse as her fingers hit bare skin, and instead felt for the wound. Not in the neck as she'd feared, but higher up on the cheek. At least he wouldn't bleed to death.

But there was Zhirrzh tongue poison in the wound. If it wasn't treated quickly...

His eyes fluttered open. "Leave me," he whispered. "Warn... the colonel."

Melinda blinked away sudden tears. "I will," she promised. She scrambled back to her feet—

And stopped. A Zhirrzh was standing in front of her, just inside the hatchway, one hand gripping his side, but otherwise apparently unaffected by the Elderdeath weapon blazing across the landing field.