Timothy Zahn - Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

Conquerors' Legacy

Timothy Zahn

Conquerors' Legacy

Conquerors Saga, book 3

DEDICATION

For several years now, from time to time, he has been supplying me with little tidbits

of ideas; and up to now he has not received a proper public acknowledgment of my

gratitude. With this book, it's time to set that right.

So here goes. The suggestion that part of this book be from Max's point of view came

from him. So did the hand-built model that inspired the design of the Peacekeepers'

Wolf Pack. For these ideas, for those that have come before, and for those that are

undoubtedly yet to come, I dedicate this book to my son: CORWIN ZAHN

1

Directly ahead, the sky was a brilliant and cloudless blue. All around, at the distant circle of the

horizon, the browns and grays and pale greens of the planetscape hazed with an odd seamlessness

into the blue of the sky. Above and slightly aft, the planet's sun was a pale, red-orange globe.

Directly beneath was enemy territory.

"Samurai, I'm picking up response activity," the voice of the backstop Corvine's tail man came in

Commander Rafe Taoka's ear. "Thirty-four klicks aft. Can't tell what kind of craft yet, but I read five

of them."

"Tally that," Taoka's own tail man, Juggler, confirmed. "Also tally Talisman's count."

"Acknowledged," Taoka said, twitching his left eyelid to call up the tactical/sensor view aft of his

Catbird fighter. The image superimposed itself on the enhanced forward view racing past beneath

him, and he took a moment to study the flashing circles Juggler had marked. No vehicles showing

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yet, but the false-color scheme definitely indicated thermal and turbulence signatures. "Gusto, give

yourself another half klick up—I want Talisman to keep an eye on those signatures back there.

Juggler, Argus: you two stay sharp on forward wedge scan."

"Acknowledged," Gusto said from the Corvine, his voice sounding a little strained. "Shouldn't we go

to X?"

"Standing Order Three, Gusto," Crossfire said from the other Catbird, flying a dozen meters off

Taoka's wing. "We don't go to X until bogies are actually on scope."

"This isn't a drill, Crossfire," Gusto said, a touch of asperity cracking through his voice. "This is

real."

"Yes, we know," Crossfire said patiently. "Just stay cool. We're doing fine."

"Yes, sir," Gusto muttered. "Staying cool, sir."

"Doesn't sound happy, does he?" Juggler commented from the aft cockpit seat behind Taoka.

"Can't say I blame him," Taoka growled back. It was a stupid rule, St/Ord 3 was, and everyone from

the Peacekeeper Triad on down knew it. Level X, the full Mindlink integration between the pilot,

tail, and fighter craft itself, was the whole point of the Copperheads in the first place. The Level A

linkage they were using right now really wasn't much better than the baseline heads-ups the poppers

who flew Axeheads or Dragonflies got.

But, then, St/Ord 3 hadn't been set up by military men. It was a political order, forced on the

Copperheads by the NorCoord Parliament a few years back. Their ill-considered reaction to that

oversensationalized flap over Copperhead burnout. A flap led and fed by the ambitions of then-

Parlimin Lord Stewart Cavanagh.

One expected idiotic and shortsighted ideas from politicians. What had twisted in Taoka's gut like

splintered glass was the fact that Cavanagh's crusade had been aided and abetted by a former

Copperhead. Worse, a Copperhead who had once held near-legendary status. Adam Quinn: Maestro.

Or, as Taoka thought of him now, Adam Quinn: Traitor. It had been a hurtful and humiliating time,

and Taoka had privately resolved never to forget that pain. But maybe all that bad blood had finally

circled back to where it belonged. The last skitter message that had reached the Trafalgar task force

before they left Commonwealth space had included a notice that Quinn had been arrested and

charged with theft of Peacekeeper property. With a little luck maybe Lord Cavanagh could get

dragged into it, too; Taoka had heard that Quinn was working for Cavanagh these days. Get the two

of them thrown into cold storage for the next twenty years, and he might be willing to call it even.

Beneath the three fighters a group of Conqueror buildings shot past, built in the same linked-

hexagon style the aliens used for their warships. He caught a glimpse of a courtyard area between

two of the buildings—the heat signature of a single Conqueror standing out in the open, no doubt

looking goggle-eyed up at them—and then they were over a vast landing field with a scattering of

small air- or spacecraft clustered at one end.

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"Got some heat signatures," Juggler reported from behind him. "Some of those craft down there are

already gearing up."

"Looks like word of our arrival's getting around," Gusto added.

"Can't fault their communications any," Taoka said, calling up the image of the vehicles they'd just

passed. "Lucky for us they're not too swift on the uptake."

"They're swift enough," Crossfire cut in. "Argus has two groups incoming: twenty and forty degrees,

two hundred klicks range. Intercept vectors."

Taoka smiled grimly. Finally: a direct enemy threat. "All right, Samurai group. You wanted it; you

got it. All Copperheads, go to X."

"Signal from Samurai group, Commodore," the fighter commander called from across the

Trafalgar's bridge. "They have incoming bogies. Samurai's ordered them to Level X."

"Acknowledged, Schweighofer," Commodore Lord Alexander Montgomery said, running his eyes

over the outer scan displays for probably the hundredth time since launching the probe teams.

Peacekeeper Command had assured him that their sudden arrival would probably catch the enemy

off guard; but Peacekeeper Command's collective hindquarters weren't on the line here. His were,

and he had no intention of losing them or his task force to the Zhirrzh. Certainly not the way Trev

Dyami had lost the Jutland. "Smith, do we still have visual on the outriders?" he called across the

bridge.

"Yes, sir," the force coordination officer called back. "Visual and lasercom both. Still no enemy

response."

"That won't last much longer," Captain Thomas Germaine murmured from the fleet exec's chair

beside Montgomery. "They must have something in this system that can fight. Only question is

where they're hiding it."

"Agreed," Montgomery said, running a thoughtful forefinger across the deep cleft in his chin. The

outriders had clear visuals on both moons and all space debris within any reasonable range. Unless

the enemy had something buried away underground—

"Antelope reports enemy ship rising from the planet," Smith called. "Grid Fifty-five-Delta."

Germaine had already keyed the main display for the Antelope's feed. The Zhirrzh ship rising at

them was not all that big, perhaps half the size of the ships the Jutland had encountered a few light-

years off Dorcas.

Still, considering how easily those four alien craft had ripped through the Jutland's eight-ship task

force, the presence of even one Zhirrzh warship was nothing to be taken lightly.

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And orbiting two thousand klicks away in outrider position, the Antelope might as well have been a

floating bull's-eye for all the good the rest of the task force could do them. "Mendoza, you'd better

get out of there," he ordered the Antelopes captain. "Mesh out, and wait for us at Point Victor."

As if to underline the order, the rising conglomeration of hexagons began spitting laser fire,

splashing tiny clouds of vaporized metal from the Antelopes hull. "Acknowledged, Trafalgar,"

Mendoza's voice came back. "You want me to loop back around and run backstop?"

"Negative," Montgomery said. "Just run. Bravo Sector ships: deploy defense against incoming

bogie. All fighters return to their ships at once, probe teams included."

"Samurai group is about to engage, sir." Schweighofer reminded him.

"Tell Samurai I said now."

"Acknowledged.

Montgomery looked up to find Germaine frowning at him. "We're leaving already?" the fleet exec

asked. "Surely we can handle a single enemy warship."

"Boldness is a useful quality in a warrior," Montgomery told him quietly. "Brashness belongs in

your quarters with your dress uniform. Our mission objectives were to gather geographic data and to

test the assumption that the Zhirrzh can't detect the tachyon wake-trails of incoming starships. We've

accomplished both. There's nothing to be gained by adding head-to-head combat to the mission

profile."

"Except possibly a reduction of the enemy threat," Germaine countered. "Even without Antelope

we've got a fifteen-to-one edge here, plus four wings of Adamant and Copperhead fighters. This is

the kind of chance—"

"Second ship incoming, Commodore," Smith interrupted. "Cascadia has it rising from Grid One-

sixteen-Charlie."

"Deploy defensive," Montgomery ordered as Germaine pulled up the picture. Coming up from a

group of low hills, the newcomer looked to be a bit larger than the first bogie, though given its

completely different arrangement of hexagons, it was hard to tell for sure. "Any idea yet where

they're coming from?"

"Apparently from right under our noses, sir," Kyun Wu said from the sensor station. "I ran a

check—the probe teams had them marked as buildings. Must have one hell of a lift system to be able

to bring something that size up and down a gravity well."

Montgomery grimaced to himself. Lasers capable of slicing through Peacekeeper hull metal,

virtually indestructible ceramic hulls; a method of instantaneous communication across interstellar

distances; and now an unknown but obviously highly efficient ground-to-space lift system. Even

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without anything else, the level of their technology would have red-flagged these aliens as a

potential threat to humanity.

Their use of that technology to invade the Commonwealth had turned that red flag into a red alarm.

And had earned the Zhirrzh the name Conquerors.

"Commodore, Antelope has meshed out," Smith reported. "First bogie changing course toward

Galileo and Wolverine. Second bogie has engaged Cascadia and Nagoya"

"Nagoyas been hit!" Kyun Wu snapped. "Full round of laser fire from Bogie Two. Looks like severe

damage to all forward sections."

"Confirm that," Smith said. "Damage to command structure; severe damage to sensors and forward

missile ports."

"Cascadia's launched a missile attack against Bogie Two," Kyun Wu said. "Missiles hitting... no

apparent damage. Bogie is attacking Nagoya again."

"Damage to Nagoya starboard flank," Smith said. "Make that severe damage. Command center's

gone; Prasad has ordered ship-abandon. Bogie One's engaging Wolverine"

"Trautmann, move us to backstop Cascadia," Montgomery ordered the helmsman. "Kyun Wu: status

on Nagoyas honeycombs."

"Nothing yet," Kyun Wu said tightly. "Bogie's still firing at Nagoya. Wait a minute; I'm picking up

some pod emergency beacons—"

Abruptly, he broke off. "Beacons have gone silent, Commodore."

Germaine swore viciously under his breath. "Damn them all."

Montgomery squeezed his left fist hard enough to hurt, sudden fury burning along his throat. They

were doing it again. Brutally, arrogantly, deliberately, the Conquerors were slaughtering the human

survivors of their attack. Helpless survivors, in defenseless and unarmed escape pods. "Launch

missiles," he ordered. "Full salvo."

"Acknowledged," the weapons officer called. "Missiles away."

"Too late, Commodore," Smith said quietly. "The Nagoyas gone."

For a half-dozen painful heartbeats Montgomery just sat there, staring at the expanding cloud of

debris that had been the Nagoya, a cloud still flashing and flickering with secondary explosions and

enemy laser fire. There were things he wanted to scream at the Conquerors; things he desperately

wanted to scream. But he was a NorCoord officer, from the heritage and tradition of Great Britain.

Such men did not lose control. "Fighter status?" he asked instead.

"Samurai group is just coming into their bays," Schweighofer reported, his voice the bitter cold of a

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Rheinland on Nadezhda winter. "All other fighters have returned to their ships. Rather, all that will

be returning."

Montgomery's fist tightened again. But there would be time later to tot up the casualties. Right now

his job was to keep his force from suffering any more of them. "Fire another salvo at Bogie Two," he

ordered the weapons officer as he touched his comm control. "All ships: defense formation; mesh

out in order. Rendezvous at Point Victor."

He could feel Germaine's eyes on him as the other ships acknowledged and the task force began its

orderly retreat. But the fleet exec said nothing. Perhaps because there was nothing to be said. Fifteen

Peacekeeper warships, fleeing before two of the enemy, leaving a ship's worth of dead behind. And

the two enemy warships not showing so much as a scratch.

But at least he hadn't lost his whole task force—the way Dyami had lost the Jutland.

And, ultimately, it wasn't going to matter how viciously and arrogantly the Zhirrzh cut into them

here. By now the NorCoord Parliament must certainly have authorized the use of CIRCE, the

awesome weapon that had been used four decades earlier to end the Pawolian war, and which then

for security reasons had been disassembled. Odds were, in fact, that all of CIRCE's components had

already been gathered together from the dozen or more worlds on which they'd been hidden.

Somewhere back in the Commonwealth—on Earth, on Celadon, perhaps somewhere out in deep

space—top NorCoord ordnance techs were probably even now reassembling those components into

the most spectacular killing device mankind had ever known.

So let the enemy slaughter and destroy. Soon they would find themselves facing CIRCE, and the

Peacekeepers would have the final word.

And the Zhirrzh would find out who the true Conquerors around here really were.

2

The spokesman of the two Mrachanis spoke, his voice soft and low and with an earnestness that

tugged oddly at Commander Thrr-mezaz's emotions. "You must listen to us, Commander of the

Zhirrzh," the translation came a few beats later through the translator-link nestled in Thrr-mezaz's

ear slits. "We are in great danger here on Dorcas. You must persuade your leaders to bring us to

them."

"We're doing everything in our power to protect you, Lahettilas," Thrr-mezaz said, the translation

into the Human-Conqueror language coming a few beats later from the speaker on his shoulder,

linked by darklight beams to the interpreter installed in one of the buildings across the landing field.

"You must understand that the Overclan Seating and Warrior Command are extremely busy—"

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Lahettilas cut him off, the earnestness in his voice changing abruptly to scorn. "Everything in your

power? You harbor the Human-Conqueror responsible for a vicious attack intended to be fatal to us;

and yet you claim to be protecting us?"

"The Human-Conqueror prisoner Srgent-janovetz is being carefully watched," Second Commander

Klnn-vavgi said from beside Thrr-mezaz. "If he was the one who launched that explosives attack on

your quarters last fullarc, he won't have the opportunity to repeat it."

The second Mrachani growled something. "So you say," the translation came. "Yet you concede you

don't even know the mechanism of the attack. How, then, can you presume to guarantee our safety?"

"I never said your safety was guaranteed," Thrr-mezaz said coldly. There was something about these

aliens and their mannerisms that he found vaguely but increasingly irritating. And the last thing he

needed right now was a lecture on his responsibilities as the commander of the Zhirrzh ground

warriors. "Dorcas is a war zone, which you chose to enter. You'll just have to face the dangers here

along with the rest of us."

Lahettilas spoke again, his tone matching the chill of Thrr-mezaz's own voice. "The difference is that

you are warriors, Commander of the Zhirrzh. We are ambassadors. Furthermore, it was not our

choice to come here to the surface into your war zone. Our request was to be taken to your leaders to

discuss an alliance between our two peoples. As we have asked before."

"And as I have said before, that decision is still being considered," Thrr-mezaz said. "That's the best

I can do."

Lahettilas inhaled deeply, then exhaled just as deeply, as if he were breathing out part of his own

essence with the action. His voice changed again, turning soft, with a sorrow that seemed to twist

beneath Thrr-mezaz's tongue. "I suppose I understand," the translation came. "Distrust and

fear—perhaps they are an inevitable part of warfare. Still, it would be a bitter consequence if such

distrust led to the destruction of both our peoples."

"A bitter consequence, indeed," Thrr-mezaz agreed. "On the other side, the Zhirrzh are a long way

yet from such destruction."

Lahettilas spoke again, his tone turning dark and grim. "Perhaps you are closer than you realize.

Your Warrior Command urgently needs to hear about the weapon called CIRCE. If the Human-

Conquerors are able to reconstruct it—"

Behind the Mrachanis an Elder abruptly appeared, only his transparent face protruding through the

wall. "End this conversation immediately, Commander," he hissed.

In the two fullarcs since they'd landed there, the Mrachanis had gotten faster at trying to locate the

source of these brief Elder communications. But they weren't yet quite fast enough, and the Elder

had vanished before they were able to turn around. Lahettilas spoke—"These faint Zhirrzh voices

disturb me, Commander of the Zhirrzh. Where do they come from?"

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"I'll speak to Warrior Command about your request," Thrr-mezaz told him, ignoring the question.

"We must go now. The warriors will look after you."

Lahettilas did the inhale/exhale thing again and bowed his face briefly toward the floor as he spoke.

"Very well. I suppose it is all we can do. Certainly all which those of us who are minor players in

this span of history can hope to accomplish."

"Farewell, then," Thrr-mezaz said, turning away from the aliens, a sudden flush of annoyance

flowing across his tongue. A minor player. Was that all these aliens considered him to be, a minor

player?

How dare they make such a presumption? He was Thrr-mezaz; Kee'rr, commander of a Zhirrzh

beachhead in enemy territory. Not in any way a minor player.

And he would prove it to them. He would get to Warrior Command, all right—maybe even to the

Overclan Prime himself. He would get this straightened out so fast, it would make their fur twist.

"Arrogant little overgrown nornins, aren't they?" Klnn-vavgi muttered at Thrr-mezaz's side as they

headed across the landing field toward the headquarters building.

"Extremely," Thrr-mezaz growled back. "I don't know how Mrachanis look at it, Second, but I don't

consider any Zhirrzh in a war zone to be a minor player."

"We'll just have to make sure we prove that to them." Klnn-vavgi glanced back over his shoulder,

flicking his tongue thoughtfully. "It happened again," he said, lowering his voice. "Did you notice?

Third time in the past two fullarcs, by my count."

"You mean the Elder who was handling the pathway back to Warrior Command suddenly cutting off

the conversation?"

"Exactly," Klnn-vavgi said. "All the more interesting, given the chance they're taking."

"Indeed," Thrr-mezaz murmured. Supreme Ship Commander Dkll-kumvit had made it clear as fine

glasswork that the existence of Zhirrzh Elders was to be kept a closely guarded secret from the

Mrachanis. Yet the supreme commanders at Warrior Command, listening at the other end of the

Elder pathway, had now risked exposing that secret. Not once, but three times.

Which could only mean they considered it even more urgent that those particular three conversations

be interrupted. Which implied that Lahettilas knew something that Thrr-mezaz and the rest of the

Zhirrzh warriors weren't supposed to hear. "I take it you also noticed the common element each

time?" he asked Klnn-vavgi.

His second in command flicked his tongue in grim agreement. "That weapon Lahettilas keeps

wanting to talk to Warrior Command about. The thing he calls CIRCE. I wonder what it is."

"I'll bet Warrior Command knows," Thrr-mezaz said, glancing around. He didn't see any Elders

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hovering around listening, but with Elders that didn't necessarily mean anything. Insubstantial and

virtually transparent, they were ideally suited for eavesdropping.

"Something unsuitable for us minor players, no doubt," Klnn-vavgi said. "I don't know about you,

Thrr-mezaz, but I'm getting the taste of politics dripping all over this thing."

"Maybe," Thrr-mezaz said. "I wonder... no."

"What?"

"Just a thought," Thrr-mezaz said, looking around again. "Whatever the Mrachanis or Warrior

Command know about this, I'll bet our Human-Conqueror prisoner could tell us the whole story."

"Interesting thought," Klnn-vavgi agreed. "Maybe we ought to go have a little talk with him."

For a handful of beats Thrr-mezaz was tempted to agree. As a Zhirrzh commander in the war zone, it

seemed only right that he should know everything Warrior Command did about enemy weapons his

warriors might be facing.

But the Human-Conqueror prisoner, Srgent-janovetz, was under continual monitoring by the

beachhead's Elders. If they asked him about CIRCE, Warrior Command would know about it within

ten beats. Cvv-panav, the Speaker for Dhaa'rr in the Overclan Seating, had already tried once to have

Thrr-mezaz ousted as commander of the Dorcas ground warriors. Pressing to learn something

Warrior Command obviously wanted kept secret would be all the excuse he would need to finish the

job.

Thrr-mezaz looked sideways at Klnn-vavgi, a sudden doubt oozing beneath his tongue. Could that in

fact be the outcome his second in command was trying for here? To goad Thrr-mezaz into doing

something that would get him removed from command? Klnn-vavgi was also Dhaa'rr, after all;

perhaps his oft-stated contempt for clan politics was a lie designed to lull Thrr-mezaz into

complacency.

His tongue flicked in self-disgust. An absurd thought, and he was ashamed with himself for having

even entertained it. Lahettilas and all that talk about distrust must have gotten deeper under his

tongue than he'd realized. "Let's try something else first," he told Klnn-vavgi, changing direction

toward the eastern edge of the landing field. "Come on."

The warriors and techs had long since finished their examination of the storehouse building where

the two Mrachanis had come under Human-Conqueror attack a fullarc ago. Outside the eastern wall

where the doors had once stood, the ground was covered with wooden splinters, and Thrr-mezaz

found himself wincing as he and Klnn-vavgi crunched their way through them. There, crushed

beneath those doors when the explosion blew them off their hinges, two Zhirrzh warriors had been

abruptly and prematurely raised to Eldership.

And were still suffering the consequences of that raising. Yanked instantly back across the three-

hundred-plus light-cyclics separating Dorcas and their preserved fsss organs on Oaccanv, both of the

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new Elders were twisted in the temporary insanity of anchoring shock.

As were the warriors who had been raised to Eldership during their initial invasion of Dorcas. Now,

seventeen fullarcs later, that group was still showing no signs of coming out of the madness.

There were, Thrr-mezaz knew, whispered rumors of searcher and healer theories that had supposedly

proved that a Zhirrzh who was too far from his fsss organ at the time of his raising would be forever

locked into anchoring shock. The clan and family leaders uniformly denied that such theories had

ever even been formally proposed, let alone tested or proved. But that didn't stop the rumors. Thrr-

mezaz could only hope that, if such an outer limit existed, Dorcas was still inside it.

Three more jagged holes had been ripped in the north wall by the Human-Conqueror explosives after

the blast that had destroyed the doors, showering more splinters and wood fragments outside the

building. "What are we doing here?" Klnn-vavgi asked as Thrr-mezaz led the way to the middle of

the room.

"I have a special arrangement with one of our communicators," Thrr-mezaz told him. "He's supposed

to look in here a couple times per tentharc to see if I want him."

"Really," Klnn-vavgi said, eyeing his commander. "A special arrangement, you say."

"Yes," Thrr-mezaz said, starting to have second thoughts about this idea. The secure pathway which

the Dhaa'rr Elder Prr't-casst-a had set up two fullarcs ago between Thrr-mezaz and his brother Thrr-

gilag had been for one purpose only: to discuss the suspected capture of Prr't-casst-a's husband, Prr't-

zevisti, by the Human-Conquerors. Trying to use the pathway for any other purpose might well meet

with resistance from the Elders involved in carrying the messages back and forth, particularly if the

discussion turned to Dhaa'rr political moves. Perhaps he should just forget about this and hope that

the Mrachanis were overstating their case on this CIRCE threat.

Abruptly, the Elder appeared. "Commander Thrr-mezaz," he said. "You have a message for Prr't-

casst-a?"

"Not for Prr't-casst-a, no," Thrr-mezaz said. "But I'd like to use the secure pathway she set up to

contact my brother, Searcher Thrr-gilag. Can you do it?"

"I can try," the Elder said, sounding a bit doubtful. "I thought Thrr-gilag had returned to Oaccanv."

"He has," Thrr-mezaz confirmed. "He should be at either the Overclan Seating complex in Unity

City, the Thrr-family shrine near Cliffside Dales, or at the Frr-family town of Reeds Village."

"I obey, Commander," the Elder said, and vanished.

"You think Thrr-gilag knows something about this CIRCE weapon?" Klnn-vavgi asked.

"He spent nineteen fullarcs on Base World Twelve interrogating the Human-Conqueror prisoner

Pheylan Cavanagh," Thrr-mezaz reminded him. "If CIRCE is as dangerous as Lahettilas seems to

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Timothy Zahn - Conquerors 3 - Conquerors' Legacy

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