He started to key in the drive; paused. "Two other things," he said. "The Mrachanis told me to shut down all my radars and radios, which tells me that whatever's going on in there is highly sensitive to electromagnetic radiation. Both of you ought to keep that in mind if we need to create a diversion on our way out."

He half turned in his seat to face the others. "Final point, then. If I read that card right on Granparra, the Conquerors One operation starts sometime today. May have already started, for that matter. The bad news is that if it's a straight military operation, it means someone in Yycroman space is going to get pounded; the good news is that the fact that we're the only humans in sight implies the operation doesn't involve Peacekeeper forces. So we're out of it."

Cavanagh felt a hard knot in his stomach. The mental image of the gravely dignified Klyveress ci Yyatoor dying amid the wreckage of one of her worlds was an oddly distressing one. "Isn't there any way to stop it?"

"Not a chance," Bronski said flatly. "If it's a long-term campaign, we might be able to cut it short, but probably not. My point is that we need to consider Conquerors One to be a done deal, and to concentrate all our efforts on figuring out Conquerors Two. That's the one we might still have a chance of stopping. Understood?"

Cavanagh nodded. "Understood."

22

The animal was lying half-propped up against a tree, one of its sharp-edged horns wedged into a leaf cluster. Three men—two Peacekeepers and a civilian—were standing in a silent group around it. "Okay, let's have it," Holloway said. "Doctor?"

"Nightbear was right, Colonel," the doctor said. "It's halucine disease."

"Terrific," Holloway said. "All right, give me the bottom line."

"It's bad enough," the doctor said. "But it's not as bad as it could be. The halucine virus is waterborne, but it's easily neutralized or filtered. Even if any gets through, it has only a mild effect on most humans." His lips compressed briefly as he gestured down toward the dead razorhorn. "Where it's going to hurt is the game animals."

Holloway shifted his attention to the tall black-haired civilian hunter. "Any chance of tracking it back to where it picked up the virus, Nightbear? Maybe we can wipe out this batch before it spreads."

"We can try, Colonel," Nightbear said, shaking his head. "But I don't think it'll help. The scent's already in the air."

"What scent?" Takara asked.

"The altered scent of a sick razorhorn," the doctor explained. "In individual animals, it attracts predators and warns other razorhorns away. But if you get enough of them giving off the same diseased smell, it'll drive everything out of the affected area. Predator and prey both."

And the wind was blowing hard from the northeast, sending the aroma straight across the civilian bivouac area. "How soon before that happens?"

"It's already happening," Nightbear said. "The hunters have already noticed a decline in their take."

"The trappers, too," the doctor added. "I checked their numbers for the past five days. It's not too bad so far, but it's definitely there. And definitely going to get worse."

Holloway grimaced. "How long before the epidemic runs its course?"

"The last halucine outbreak in this section of the continent drove the razorhorns out of about an eight-thousand-square-kilometer area for four months," the doctor said. "The virus itself disappeared after about two, but it took another two for the animals to wander their way back again."

Holloway chewed at the inside of his cheek. Four months. And it was only three months until the beginning of winter. "All right," he said. "Nightbear, you go to the leaders of the hunting and trapping teams and get them working double time—we need to take whatever we can before the game heads off for greener pastures. Doctor, I want you to try to analyze the altered scent from this animal, see if you can come up with some way to neutralize it or cover it up. And get some teams out to the nearby streams and find out where the contamination's coming from. We might as well kill off as much of the virus as we can find."

"Yes, sir," the doctor said. "Come on, gentlemen, let's get this animal up to the encampment."

Holloway gestured to Takara, and together they headed back up the slope. "This isn't going to help," Takara commented in a low voice as they climbed. "And I think you know it. Sooner or later we're going to have no choice but to pull up stakes and get out of here."

"You have no idea what you're saying, Fuji," Holloway said. "Move twenty-five thousand civilians at least fifty kilometers across mountainous territory? And under enemy observation and probable enemy fire?"

"I didn't say I liked the idea," Takara said soberly. "I hate to think how many people we're going to lose along the way. But the longer we postpone it, the bigger the risk that we'll hit winter without a food supply built up. We do that, and we'll be guaranteeing slow starvation for all of us."

Holloway looked up at the sentry post above them, part of the perimeter of the refuge they'd worked so hard to put together. "I should have insisted they all leave," he said. "Even if we'd had to throw them bodily onto the ships."

"There wasn't enough space on the ships for all of them, Cass," Takara said. "Even if every flight here before the Zhirrzh hit had gone out full. We'd still have had at least ten thousand left."

Holloway's comm buzzed. "Ten to one it's more good news," he said sourly, pulling out the comm and flicking it on. "Holloway."

"Crane, sir," Crane's voice came. "Spotter One just picked up an aerial explosion southwest of the base."

Holloway threw a frown at Takara. As far as they'd seen, the Zhirrzh didn't use explosives. "What kind of explosion?"

"Gasperi's running an analysis on the blast spectrum," Crane said. "But all indications are that it was either a missile or a spacecraft."

A cold chill ran up Holloway's back. A spacecraft? "Get that analysis done fast," he ordered. "We'll be right there."

"Commander Cavanagh?"

Pheylan started awake. "Yes, Max?"

"We've reached the Dorcas system, Commander," the computer said. "We'll be meshing in in approximately ten minutes."

"Thank you," Pheylan said, unstrapping his sleep webbing and rubbing at his eyes. "Do we have any idea where the Peacekeepers might have holed up?"

"We have no definite information," Max said. "However, I have a general focus area based on the vectors of the supply flights I observed while Dr. Cavanagh and I were waiting for Commander Masefield's Copperhead unit to arrive."

A display came on, showing the area around the main village. "There are numerous possible bivouac sites in the mountains to the east," Max went on. "If we can get within visual range of them, the Peacekeepers should be able to do the rest."

"Let's hope they're on their toes," Pheylan said, retrieving the survival pack he'd prepared from its locker and strapping it on. "And that the Zhirrzh aren't on theirs. You sure this mesh-in plan is going to work?"

"The theory itself is perfectly sound," Max said. "The distances themselves can be calculated precisely, and Dorcas's average atmospheric density at our chosen mesh-in altitude is well within safety margins. However, as is generally the case with real-world situations, there are likely to be variables the theory does not take into account."

"Translation: we're throwing dice on this," Pheylan said.

"Our odds are considerably better than that," Max assured him, sounding almost huffy. "I wouldn't have agreed to it if I thought it was overly dangerous."

"Loaded dice, then," Pheylan corrected dryly, pulling out a jump seat and beginning to strap himself in. "It's still a damn sight safer than meshing in where we'd have to run the gauntlet of Zhirrzh ships."