He drifted back into the cell, disturbing uncertainties tugging at him. The Overclan Prime had been so certain that the Human-Conquerors had started this war. But the Human-Conqueror on the cot over there had been equally certain that they hadn't. As had Pheylan Cavanagh, according to his son Thrr-gilag.

Someone was lying, or else someone was wrong. But who?

"Hello."

Thrr't-rokik started at the soft voice, dropping reflexively toward the grayworld. One of the Human-Conquerors, the one called Cavanagh, had awakened, his eyes searching the area Thrr't-rokik had just vanished from. "I won't hurt you," the alien added, his voice even softer here in the grayworld. "I just want to talk."

Thrr't-rokik hesitated. But why not? "About what?" he asked, mouthing the alien words with difficulty as he rose again to the edge of the lightworld.

"There you are," the Human-Conqueror said. "My name is Lord-stewart Cavanagh. Pheylan Cavanagh is my son."

"I know," Thrr't-rokik said. "You said that already."

"Yes," the Human-Conqueror said. "Do you have a name?"

Again, why not? "I am Thrr't-rokik; Kee'rr. Thrr-gilag is my son."

The alien's eyes seemed to grow larger for a beat. "Thrr-gilag's father. I'm honored to meet you."

"Why did you come to this place?" Thrr't-rokik asked.

"We don't trust the Mrachanis," the Human-Conqueror said. "We came here to find out what they were doing."

"Why don't you trust them?"

"Because we now know they have lied to us many times," the alien said. "May I ask a question?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said cautiously.

"What are you?" the Human-Conqueror asked. "What I mean is, what are the Elders? Are you the (something) of the dead?"

Thrr't-rokik eyed him, thinking furiously. What should he say? Everything about the Elders, even their very existence, was supposed to be kept a black secret—he'd lost track of how many times the language instructors and warrior commanders on the Willing Servant had pounded that into them.

But on the other side, he'd already slipped up by giving away his existence to Lord-stewart Cavanagh and his companions. And besides, these particular three would soon be dead. "We are Zhirrzh whose physical forms have failed," he said, hoping he was getting enough of the words right. For some reason, understanding the Human-Conqueror language was considerably easier than speaking it. "We're anchored to our fsss organs, which are stored at the family shrines on Oaccanv."

"So you are dead," the Human-Conqueror said, his voice sounding strange. "And yet you aren't. (Something.) How long can you live this way?"

"Many cyclics," Thrr't-rokik said. "A fsss organ wears out only slowly."

For a few beats the Human-Conqueror was silent. Thrr't-rokik moved closer, noticed a liquid trickling from the corners of his eyes. "What is wrong?" he demanded.

The alien moved his head back and forth to the side. "I was just thinking of my wife, Sara. Pheylan's mother. She died five (something) ago. I would give anything to be able to see and talk with her again. Even just this way, as an Elder."

Thrr't-rokik gazed at him, emotions he'd striven to suppress stirring within him. Lord-stewart Cavanagh had lost his wife to death... just as Thrr't-rokik might yet lose his own wife. "My wife is named Thrr-pifix-a," he said. "She does not wish to become an Elder."

Lord-stewart Cavanagh rubbed the liquid away with his hands. "Why not?"

"She fears the loss of her physical form," Thrr't-rokik said. "She calls Eldership not a real life."

The Human-Conqueror looked at his hands. "Yes, I can understand that," he said. "Actually, I think Sara would have felt the same way. But I know that if I could have her back, I would be selfish enough to do so."

Selfish. Thrr't-rokik gazed at the Human-Conqueror, an unpleasant feeling gnawing at his tongue. He hadn't really thought about it that way before. Or else hadn't wanted to think that way. Was he being selfish to want to hold on to Thrr-pifix-a?

Lord-stewart Cavanagh inhaled noisily, wiping at his eyes again. "Do you speak with your own father and mother often?" he asked.

"There is little for an Elder to do except speak," Thrr't-rokik said. "To speak, and to watch the world near us. We can only go small distances from our fsss organs."

"Yet you're here," Lord-stewart Cavanagh pointed out. "How is that possible?"

More forbidden territory, no doubt. Again, it probably didn't matter. "A small piece can be taken from the fsss organ," Thrr't-rokik told him. "An Elder can then move between the two parts."

"I see," the other said. "That's how you're able to send messages over great distances."

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said. "I would ask that you not speak of these things. It is not permitted to tell anyone."

The muscles in Lord-stewart Cavanagh's neck moved. "Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll probably be dead soon. As may some of your people. You'd better warn them that the Mrachanis may soon attack them."

"They are warned," Thrr't-rokik said, rather surprised that the Human-Conqueror would even bother to say anything about that. Thrr-gilag's doubts about the presumed levels of Human-Conqueror aggression came floating back through his mind— "They are preparing for attack."

"Good." For a few beats Lord-stewart Cavanagh was silent. "I appreciate your telling me this," he said at last. "Actually, though, I have to agree with your leaders who want to keep it hidden. There are many Humans who would resent your ability to live on after physical death, even as Elders. We probably would eventually have been at war no matter what."

He propped his head up on one arm. "May I ask another question?"

"Yes," Thrr't-rokik said.

"Tell me about your world. Not anything that your leaders wouldn't want me to know; just what your world is like. Its plants and animals, its hills and streams. Tell me what you liked to do when you were alive."

When you were alive. Thrr't-rokik listened to the words echoing through his mind, an odd sadness seeping into him. Because he was still alive... and yet, at the same time, he wasn't.

The Human-Conqueror was right. Thrr-pifix-a was right. Could it have been the rest of the Zhirrzh who'd been wrong all these cyclics?

"My world is very beautiful," he told Lord-stewart Cavanagh, the alien words coming out with difficulty. "The home where I grew up was in a wide valley...."

"Stand by," Daschka's voice came tautly in Aric's ear. "Almost there."

"Acknowledged," Quinn said from the Corvine's pilot seat in front of Aric. "We're ready."

Aric took a careful breath, held it a few seconds, then slowly let it out. This was it. If Cho Ming's estimate was right, they were about to mesh in at the spot where those three Conqueror warships had disappeared.

Unfortunately, that was all they had here: an estimate. They might arrive a hundred thousand kilometers away, or they might land right on top of them.

"Here we go," Daschka said. "Meshing in... now."

The relays cracked; and in front of the Corvine the forward cargo hatch dropped open to the stars. Without missing a beat Quinn fired the fighter's thrusters, and five seconds later they were outside. "In position," he called. "Situation?"

"No contact yet," Cho Ming's voice said. "Stand by."

An invisible weight leaned onto Aric's chest and right side, the stars outside the canopy spinning dizzily as Quinn threw the Corvine into an accelerating spiral around the Happenstance. "You see anything, Maestro?" Aric asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

"Some comets," Quinn replied. "Nothing that looks or reads like a Zhirrzh warship."

"Or even a Mrach heavy-hauler," Cho Ming's voice said. "Looks like they've flown the coop."