I can't think of a better place to put this, although it'll likely be lost on everyone but opus and Dormouse. Oh woe!
Mirnacheem-hyeea Chapter 1
By omqme
The sun had set on the Dorcas Garrison, Colonel Holloway’s makeshift military base empty, abandoned. Not a trace of military technology remained--only a large landing pad and a few permanent structures. Dirt and leaves had inexorably made their way into the facility, carried by Dorcas’s winter winds and the occasional flash flood, product of Dorcas’s winter season.
The floodlights in the landing area were on, the only illumination within miles. Dark and heavy clouds filled the sky, threatening to dump yet another load of water upon the wretched landscape. The ground squelched underfoot, and the sound of dripping water continued ceaselessly. It was, for better or for worse, a typical winter night on Dorcas. Brigadier Bronski of NorCoord Military Intelligence was glad he wouldn’t have to stay long.
He glanced around at the rest of the makeshift Commonwealth envoy as they sat around the landing pad on folding chairs taken from the abandoned supply building. Lord Cavanagh, who’d led Bronski on a wild goose chase through the Mrachani worlds only to join the Brigadier in writing an rearmament agreement with the Yycromae. Kolchin, the former commando and bodyguard who’d held a gun on Bronski as he helped Cavanagh escape captivity, only to save Bronski’s life several times in encounters with Bhurt mercenaries. Cavanagh’s daughter, the surgeon who’d been court martialled several times over in her stay on Dorcas during the Zhirrzh attack.
And yet here they were, free once again, running about the galaxy and sticking their noses into everything they shouldn’t be. For the moment, however, that at least would be taken care of. The confidential negotiations were predicted to last for several weeks, barring any “complications” that were of course bound to arise. That was how these things went, after all. And if there were any problems with his fellow humans, he, Daschka and Cho Ming would certainly be able to handle them.
By all rights, the entire crew should be back on Earth in quarantine, what with their knowledge of CIRCE. Pheylan Cavanagh was still being held back there, alternating between court and the hospital. His injuries had proven more extensive than they had first appeared. But the Zhirrzh had returned with the message requesting this meeting, and NorCoord didn’t feel it was prudent to let more people in on the CIRCE secret than was absolutely necessary. So here they were, waiting for whatever grandiose assortment of dignitaries the Zhirrzh decided to throw at them. Bronski could hardly wait.
He wondered how the Peacekeepers were faring back on Mra. They had quite a mess on their hands--a key race in the Commonwealth had turned against them, manipulating the Zhirrzh into major assaults against human and Yycromae worlds. There were Mrachanis on nearly every world in the Commonwealth. It would be impossible to simply go around and arrest every one of them. Sanctions were really the only option now, and even that might not be enough. There could be more attacks arranged with Zhirrzh rogue factions, or with the Bhurtala. No way to tell--the Mrachanis certainly weren’t talking.
Bronski ground his teeth. Was that a drop of rain he’d felt just now? The Zhirrzh were expected to arrive within the next few hours, and the only livable dry spaces were inside their ship, and inside the Zhirrzh vessel. At this stage, the idea of entering an enemy ship unarmed and with an unknown number of people inside did not appeal to him. It wasn’t likely to appeal to the Zhirrzh either.
Damn. It was definitely starting to rain now, he could feel the droplets as they trickled lightly down on his face and hands. He wiped his mustache on his sleeve.
“Daschka, get the rain gear set up. Won’t be long now.”
“Until what?” the Intelligence Officer asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Until the Conquerors arrive, or until we’ve died of hypothermia?”
“Either. Both. Get moving.” Bronski replied. “If you’re worried, the flotation devices are in the orange box on the right.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
As the other set down his rifle and began rooting through the containers they’d carried onto the pad, Bronski hoisted himself out of his chair. Sitting around and letting Daschka do all the work wouldn’t do any good. Bronski strode out of the light and stood still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The trees loomed up all around, silhouetted by the almost indiscernible glow of the clouds as they were illuminated from above by the moonlight. The rain was coming down harder now. He’d better get moving.
As he started up the landing ramp of the ship, one of the bushes at the edge of the clearing shook noticeably. For a moment, he stood there looking at it. Odd, but not unusual. Probably just an animal, or a bit of collected water dumped from a leaf higher up. He was just being paranoid. Still, he thought to himself as he walked into the ship, a little paranoia never hurts. He gave the flechette pistol a little jiggle in its holster, to free it from any snags it might have gotten itself hung up on.
There were eight rain jackets hung alongside the entrance to the ship. Briskly lifting six of them off of their hooks, Bronski pulled one over his jacket and headed back out with the remainder under his arm.
He thought of the Zhirrzh agents that had commandeered the military base on Dorcas, who’d ordered Pheylan and Melinda Cavanagh killed, as well as the Zhirrzh scientists who’d been assisting them. Who’d come very close to preventing the end of the war. Where were they now? He thought of Valloittaja, the Mrachani ringleader, still at large. Where was he, and who was he conning this time? The galaxy might be more dangerous than ever before.
No, a little paranoia never hurt at all.
With a rumble and squishy thud that echoed throughout the forest, the Closed Mouth settled to the forest floor. The rain was coming down hard now, splashing against the ceramic hull and streaming down the sides to the ground below.
The Zhirrzh had arrived on Dorcas.
The young searcher Gilag hoisted himself up from his chair and stood for a moment, gazing out the window into the blackness of the forest. The humans maintained that there were no dangerous animals in the area, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He flipped the “charge” switch on the Stinger II slung at his side.
A ghostly figure materialized at his side. His father, T’rokik. Until recently Thrr’t-rokik, just as he himself had been Thrr-gilag. As part of his pardon of the crimes he had committed, he had been legally separated from his family and thus his family name. Gilag would never be able to get used to these improvised names, not in a million years.
“Th—ah, Gilag?” the elder prompted. Apparently, neither was anyone else.
“Yes?” Gilag asked.
“My anchorline reaches to the human’s ship. There are six of them, including Bronski and Cavanagh.”
“Armed?”
“Bronski has a small hand weapon, Kolchin as well. Two of the men carry what appear to be rifles. The rest are unarmed.” Which was, more or less, what they themselves had come with. Were the humans expecting trouble? Or did they had something else planned? Melinda Cavanagh had seemed trustworthy enough, even putting her life on the line to try and end the war. T’rokik hadn’t been betrayed by the elder Cavanagh, but had had little contact with Bronski and Kolchin, the two others. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do but head on in.
“Everyone ready?” Gilag called. “We should leave as soon as possible.”
The first into the room were Tulkoj and Mezaz—his friend and brother, respectively. They were playing the two roles of pilots and security enforcers, each carrying a military rifle issued to them by the Overclan. Gilag felt a little better—here were some people he knew could trust, at least. A moment later, Nzz-oonaz and Svv-Selic entered. They were not officially part of his nameless detachment, but as they were deeply into their human/Mrachani studies already, they had requested permission to join him.
“We’re ready to go,” Nzz-oonaz said. “Where’s—ah,” he cut himself off as Dawan-a strode in from the door to the study. She’d spent nearly the whole trip familiarizing herself with the human language and information gathered from the recorder taken from the Jutland.
“Good. Just one last thing, then,” Gilag responded. He crossed the room to where the box containing his father’s fsss sat next to a console. Picking up the box, he inspected the latch to make sure it was secure, and dropped it into the pouch at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two other searchers wince. This newfangled method of handling fsss organs didn’t particularly appeal to them.
But Gilag had debated this with them already. He believed that if they were to integrate their society with the more relaxed and adaptable world of the humans, they would have to find a way to transport fsss without lugging a pyramid with them everywhere they went. Gilag wasn’t ready to argue the matter all over again. Apparently, neither were the other two searchers, and they kept their mouths shut.
“All right then,” Gilag said, a little too enthusiastically. “I take it we don’t have any rain gear?”
“None,” Svv-selic said, flicking his tongue. “You’d think the humans would have mentioned the weather around here.”
“It doesn’t seem like an ideal negotiating area to me, either,” Nzz-oonaz put in. “They must have somewhere more civilized.”
“Of course they do,” Gilag said. “if you don’t mind them being completely saturated with elderdeath traffic.”
T’rokik muttered something under his breath. “How are we going to get around that?” the elder asked.
“I don’t know,” Gilag admitted. “But that’s what we’re here to discuss. At least partially. We should get moving. The humans likely saw our ship, and we don’t want them to have to come out looking for us.”
“That would be a shame,” Tulkoj agreed, not sounding very convinced. He was still nervous about this. Gilag couldn’t really blame him—the former protector was the only one in the group that hadn’t spoken to or even seen humans before.
“Try not to jump to any conclusions and start shooting unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Gilag cautioned his friend as they headed down the ramp into the rain. “As far as we know, their intentions are completely benign. Keep that in mind.”
“Sure,” Tulkoj responded, gripping his laser rifle even more tightly. Obviously, he was still thinking about the reason he lost his protector’s job in the first place. He was taking his duty to protect Gilag this time around extremely seriously. Just as obviously, he didn’t want to talk about it. Gilag nodded and looked into the forest ahead.
“They’ll be in that direction,” Mezaz said, gesturing with the light attached to his laser rifle. “There’s a pathway a few hundred strides in that direction.” Mezaz had been here once before, traveling with two Zhirrzh warriors on a scout mission to find the lost elder, Prr’t-zevisti. Then, of course, it had been in broad daylight with a clear sky. Still, he knew the terrain well enough from his previous stay on Dorcas.
As they walked, Gilag looked around curiously at the native plant life. It was a lush and looked in the dim light to be mostly green and yellow. Leaves were thin, with jagged edges. Several plants had thick groups of needles protruding in many directions. Something glimmered in the distance. Gilag squinted at it, but it was gone, and too far away to see where it came from.
“See something?” Dawan-a inquired, looking intently in the same direction.
“Probably nothing,” he replied, giving up. There was nothing to see but blackness and rain. “Likely just water reflecting off of a rock.”
“Ah,” she said, sounding a bit disappointed. She had, he remembered, shown great interest in Dorcas’ native fauna. So far, barring the plants themselves, they hadn’t encountered anything that looked remotely alive. They’d have to remember to ask for some information on animal life later.
T’rokik floated silently above them, watching for signs of movement. The rain passed straight through his ethereal figure to splash on the ground below. Gilag shivered. Although he couldn’t say he was looking forward to eldership, the lack of physical presence obviously had its advantages. The the icy-cold rain was pouring down so thickly it was impossible to see more than 20 feet ahead on the trail they followed. His tail had all but stopped spinning, his body’s automatic attempt to preserve heat.
A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the area, every droplet of rain reflecting the blinding rays for a split second. Thunder boomed out through the forest, and Gilag could almost swear he could feel the ground shaking beneath his feet. The Zhirrzh blinked and shook his head—the residual glow floated in front of his eyes, a purple and green blob that refused to go away.
These were not, as Nzz-oonaz had said, ideal negotiating conditions. Gilag steeled himself and continued onward, trying hard to push away the nagging fear in the back of his mind—the fear that something was about to go very wrong.
It was twelve minutes past midnight when the Zhirrzh arrived, six of them. At first glance, they looked almost pitiful—soaking wet, with their tails dragging in the mud. But two of them carried flashlight-equipped laser rifles, and all held their heads high, gazing at Bronski with a majestic and, he thought, rather malevolent gaze.
But that didn’t mean anything. The Mrachanis had almost glowed with innocence and harmlessness, and obviously that hadn’t reflected their intentions very accurately. Bronski, Cavanagh, and Kolchin could attest to that. Several Zhirrzh soldiers were now dead as well, thanks to the Mrach “diplomats” that had arrived on Dorcas a little over a month ago.
No, Bronski corrected himself. Not dead, “raised to eldership.” Floating around back on whatever planet they came from, able to flit from place to place and eavesdrop on private conversations. The idea of alien ghosts still didn’t particularly appeal to him, but it was something he was going to have to get used to around here. Indeed, a quick glance revealed a shimmering elder floating above the Zhirrzh. Great.
The center alien stepped forward.
“Hello,” he said in perfectly accented English. “I am Gilag. These are my colleagues Dawan-a, Svv-Selic, and Nzz-oonaz.” He gestured to the three Zhirrzh behind him. These are our protectors Mezaz and Tulkoj, and my father T’rokik. I already know some of you, as do Dawan-a and T’rokik. You know us by different names, but they were required to be changed by the Overclan.”
Bronski glanced at Cavanagh. The other man was looking as mystified as he was. Nevertheless, he appeared to make up his mind and started forward.
“I am Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ve been asked by the Commonwealth to return to service as a negotiator, and I’d like to formally welcome you to our worlds.”
Gilag gazed at the proffered hand with an expression Bronski could only deduce was bewilderment. After a moment, Cavanagh withdrew it with a wry expression on his face. “I guess we can handle that later,” he said. “These are Brigadier Bronski, his associates Daschka and Cho Ming, my daughter Melinda Cavanagh, and Kolchin.”
“Honored,” the Zhirrzh said, nodding at each in turn. He was, Bronski thought, doing an exceptional job of picking up human mannerisms, even if his knowledge of actual customs was sketchy. “The negotiations are to begin tomorrow, then? These conditions are less than ideal.”
“Yeah,” Bronski cut in gruffly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kolchin tense up. Did the bodyguard see something? “Unless there’s something you’d like to talk about now.”
Suddenly, the elder floating above them twisted in midair and shot down, yelling something at Gilag.
“Down!” Kolchin yelled, his pistol in his hand. Bronski dropped into a crouch, drawing his own weapon from inside his jacket. In his peripheral vision he saw the Zhirrzh had done the same—
And suddenly the woods erupted with gunfire. Laser beams and flashes of human weapons were lighting up the forest in all directions. Caught completely flat-footed, Cavanagh took a shot to the shoulder and fell to the ground. T’rokik appeared next to him.
“Bronski!” he shouted, his eyes wide with alarm. “Why do you do this?” “They’re not ours,” Bronski grunted, squinting past the elder and trying to get a glimpse of who was shooting at them. No use.
He looked at the two armed Zhirrzh who’d accompanied Gilag onto the platform. They were shooting back into the woods, their laser rifles cutting searing lines of steam through the droplets of rain. Whatever was going on here, the official Zhirrzh party was apparently on their side. Daschka and Cho Ming had obviously figured that out as well. They were already cooperating with the Zhirrzh protectors, laying out suppression fire as Kolchin picked out shadowy targets moving between the trees.
“We can’t keep this up, Bronski,” the bodyguard shouted over his shoulder. “Get everyone into the ship.” Bronski nodded and looked at the two Cavanaghs. They were already moving across the ground on their stomachs, shouting to the Zhirrzh. The aliens replied, looking at each other suspiciously. Bronski couldn’t really blame them—this was about as neat and obvious a setup for a trap as they came. Except that it wasn’t.
Bronski hoped the Cavanaghs would be able to convince Gilag and company of that on their own, returned his attention to shooting at trees. The enemy gunfire wasn’t letting up, but the supply boxes and other equipment strewn across the landing pad served as adequate cover for the most part. He chanced a look behind him. The Zhirrzh were on their way.
“Kolchin! Go!” Bronski yelled over the roar of gunfire. Kolchin pulled something from his jacket and tossed into the woods opposite the ship. They were rewarded with a concussive boom resulting in considerably less gunfire from that direction. The man pulled a second grenade from his jacket and dropped it on the ground near the entry ramp of the ship. It began pouring smoke, obscuring the ramp from view.
Bronski signaled the Zhirrzh and Cavanaghs to stand up and make a break for the ship. They did so, keeping low as they wove between the boxes. One of them straightened up for a moment to reorient himself—
And was instantly doubled over and on his knees, his tail twitching violently back and forth. Bronski could see a bit of blood splattered on his torso. He gritted his teeth and moved across the pad in that direction. The Cavanaghs were already there, lifting the alien’s arms over their shoulders and half-dragging him up the ramp.
The protectors stood at the ramp’s bottom, the beams from their rifles clearly visible through the smoke. Bronski glanced around. Daschka and Cho Ming were nowhere in sight, probably inside the ship already. Kolchin was halfway up the ramp, still blasting away with his pistol.
“Bronski, come on!” Bronski’s flechette gun clicked empty. The brigadier tossed it to the ground and sprinted across the pad towards the ramp. Supply boxes on either side of him blew apart as they were caught by high-powered rifle rounds. He glanced behind him as he passed the protectors, and nearly tripped. Standing in the glow of the landing floodlights was a Bhurt.
Holding over its shoulder a NorCoord rocket launcher.
Kolchin was once again firing round after round at the Bhurt, but without effect. The protectors had dropped down into crouches, fiddling with their weapons. And jabbering at each other in Zhirrzh. What did they think they were doing? They were about to get blown to pieces here and now was their time to play these stupid games?
One of them stood up, his laser beam spread into a wide flash. It tracked along the ground with no effect—it was defocused, harmless. The Zhirrzh suddenly jerked it upward, sweeping it across the Bhurt’s face. Forgetting the rocket launcher for a moment, the Bhurt pawed at its eyes with one hand, yelling something in a language Bronski didn’t recognize. At that moment the other protector took aim, and fired.
Directly into the barrel of the rocket launcher. The Bhurt never even realized what had happened, exploding into a spectacular fireball before Bronski’s eyes. The Brigadier was momentarily blinded, trying to blink the flash out of his vision, as Kolchin caught his arm and hauled him bodily into the ship.
------------------
Map-Review | My Portfolio | The Matrix: Unplugged
Banks and banks of humming machinery! I've never seen so many knobs. We're going to have to do something, Charlie! Try pushing that button there. No? How about that one? No, not that one either. I know! I'll try pushing this one. Hold my hat will you? Good fellow.
[This message has been edited by Thrawn42689 (edited August 13, 2004).]
Mirnacheem-hyeea Chapter 1
By omqme
The sun had set on the Dorcas Garrison, Colonel Holloway’s makeshift military base empty, abandoned. Not a trace of military technology remained--only a large landing pad and a few permanent structures. Dirt and leaves had inexorably made their way into the facility, carried by Dorcas’s winter winds and the occasional flash flood, product of Dorcas’s winter season.
The floodlights in the landing area were on, the only illumination within miles. Dark and heavy clouds filled the sky, threatening to dump yet another load of water upon the wretched landscape. The ground squelched underfoot, and the sound of dripping water continued ceaselessly. It was, for better or for worse, a typical winter night on Dorcas. Brigadier Bronski of NorCoord Military Intelligence was glad he wouldn’t have to stay long.
He glanced around at the rest of the makeshift Commonwealth envoy as they sat around the landing pad on folding chairs taken from the abandoned supply building. Lord Cavanagh, who’d led Bronski on a wild goose chase through the Mrachani worlds only to join the Brigadier in writing an rearmament agreement with the Yycromae. Kolchin, the former commando and bodyguard who’d held a gun on Bronski as he helped Cavanagh escape captivity, only to save Bronski’s life several times in encounters with Bhurt mercenaries. Cavanagh’s daughter, the surgeon who’d been court martialled several times over in her stay on Dorcas during the Zhirrzh attack.
And yet here they were, free once again, running about the galaxy and sticking their noses into everything they shouldn’t be. For the moment, however, that at least would be taken care of. The confidential negotiations were predicted to last for several weeks, barring any “complications” that were of course bound to arise. That was how these things went, after all. And if there were any problems with his fellow humans, he, Daschka and Cho Ming would certainly be able to handle them.
By all rights, the entire crew should be back on Earth in quarantine, what with their knowledge of CIRCE. Pheylan Cavanagh was still being held back there, alternating between court and the hospital. His injuries had proven more extensive than they had first appeared. But the Zhirrzh had returned with the message requesting this meeting, and NorCoord didn’t feel it was prudent to let more people in on the CIRCE secret than was absolutely necessary. So here they were, waiting for whatever grandiose assortment of dignitaries the Zhirrzh decided to throw at them. Bronski could hardly wait.
He wondered how the Peacekeepers were faring back on Mra. They had quite a mess on their hands--a key race in the Commonwealth had turned against them, manipulating the Zhirrzh into major assaults against human and Yycromae worlds. There were Mrachanis on nearly every world in the Commonwealth. It would be impossible to simply go around and arrest every one of them. Sanctions were really the only option now, and even that might not be enough. There could be more attacks arranged with Zhirrzh rogue factions, or with the Bhurtala. No way to tell--the Mrachanis certainly weren’t talking.
Bronski ground his teeth. Was that a drop of rain he’d felt just now? The Zhirrzh were expected to arrive within the next few hours, and the only livable dry spaces were inside their ship, and inside the Zhirrzh vessel. At this stage, the idea of entering an enemy ship unarmed and with an unknown number of people inside did not appeal to him. It wasn’t likely to appeal to the Zhirrzh either.
Damn. It was definitely starting to rain now, he could feel the droplets as they trickled lightly down on his face and hands. He wiped his mustache on his sleeve.
“Daschka, get the rain gear set up. Won’t be long now.”
“Until what?” the Intelligence Officer asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Until the Conquerors arrive, or until we’ve died of hypothermia?”
“Either. Both. Get moving.” Bronski replied. “If you’re worried, the flotation devices are in the orange box on the right.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
As the other set down his rifle and began rooting through the containers they’d carried onto the pad, Bronski hoisted himself out of his chair. Sitting around and letting Daschka do all the work wouldn’t do any good. Bronski strode out of the light and stood still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The trees loomed up all around, silhouetted by the almost indiscernible glow of the clouds as they were illuminated from above by the moonlight. The rain was coming down harder now. He’d better get moving.
As he started up the landing ramp of the ship, one of the bushes at the edge of the clearing shook noticeably. For a moment, he stood there looking at it. Odd, but not unusual. Probably just an animal, or a bit of collected water dumped from a leaf higher up. He was just being paranoid. Still, he thought to himself as he walked into the ship, a little paranoia never hurts. He gave the flechette pistol a little jiggle in its holster, to free it from any snags it might have gotten itself hung up on.
There were eight rain jackets hung alongside the entrance to the ship. Briskly lifting six of them off of their hooks, Bronski pulled one over his jacket and headed back out with the remainder under his arm.
He thought of the Zhirrzh agents that had commandeered the military base on Dorcas, who’d ordered Pheylan and Melinda Cavanagh killed, as well as the Zhirrzh scientists who’d been assisting them. Who’d come very close to preventing the end of the war. Where were they now? He thought of Valloittaja, the Mrachani ringleader, still at large. Where was he, and who was he conning this time? The galaxy might be more dangerous than ever before.
No, a little paranoia never hurt at all.
With a rumble and squishy thud that echoed throughout the forest, the Closed Mouth settled to the forest floor. The rain was coming down hard now, splashing against the ceramic hull and streaming down the sides to the ground below.
The Zhirrzh had arrived on Dorcas.
The young searcher Gilag hoisted himself up from his chair and stood for a moment, gazing out the window into the blackness of the forest. The humans maintained that there were no dangerous animals in the area, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He flipped the “charge” switch on the Stinger II slung at his side.
A ghostly figure materialized at his side. His father, T’rokik. Until recently Thrr’t-rokik, just as he himself had been Thrr-gilag. As part of his pardon of the crimes he had committed, he had been legally separated from his family and thus his family name. Gilag would never be able to get used to these improvised names, not in a million years.
“Th—ah, Gilag?” the elder prompted. Apparently, neither was anyone else.
“Yes?” Gilag asked.
“My anchorline reaches to the human’s ship. There are six of them, including Bronski and Cavanagh.”
“Armed?”
“Bronski has a small hand weapon, Kolchin as well. Two of the men carry what appear to be rifles. The rest are unarmed.” Which was, more or less, what they themselves had come with. Were the humans expecting trouble? Or did they had something else planned? Melinda Cavanagh had seemed trustworthy enough, even putting her life on the line to try and end the war. T’rokik hadn’t been betrayed by the elder Cavanagh, but had had little contact with Bronski and Kolchin, the two others. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do but head on in.
“Everyone ready?” Gilag called. “We should leave as soon as possible.”
The first into the room were Tulkoj and Mezaz—his friend and brother, respectively. They were playing the two roles of pilots and security enforcers, each carrying a military rifle issued to them by the Overclan. Gilag felt a little better—here were some people he knew could trust, at least. A moment later, Nzz-oonaz and Svv-Selic entered. They were not officially part of his nameless detachment, but as they were deeply into their human/Mrachani studies already, they had requested permission to join him.
“We’re ready to go,” Nzz-oonaz said. “Where’s—ah,” he cut himself off as Dawan-a strode in from the door to the study. She’d spent nearly the whole trip familiarizing herself with the human language and information gathered from the recorder taken from the Jutland.
“Good. Just one last thing, then,” Gilag responded. He crossed the room to where the box containing his father’s fsss sat next to a console. Picking up the box, he inspected the latch to make sure it was secure, and dropped it into the pouch at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two other searchers wince. This newfangled method of handling fsss organs didn’t particularly appeal to them.
But Gilag had debated this with them already. He believed that if they were to integrate their society with the more relaxed and adaptable world of the humans, they would have to find a way to transport fsss without lugging a pyramid with them everywhere they went. Gilag wasn’t ready to argue the matter all over again. Apparently, neither were the other two searchers, and they kept their mouths shut.
“All right then,” Gilag said, a little too enthusiastically. “I take it we don’t have any rain gear?”
“None,” Svv-selic said, flicking his tongue. “You’d think the humans would have mentioned the weather around here.”
“It doesn’t seem like an ideal negotiating area to me, either,” Nzz-oonaz put in. “They must have somewhere more civilized.”
“Of course they do,” Gilag said. “if you don’t mind them being completely saturated with elderdeath traffic.”
T’rokik muttered something under his breath. “How are we going to get around that?” the elder asked.
“I don’t know,” Gilag admitted. “But that’s what we’re here to discuss. At least partially. We should get moving. The humans likely saw our ship, and we don’t want them to have to come out looking for us.”
“That would be a shame,” Tulkoj agreed, not sounding very convinced. He was still nervous about this. Gilag couldn’t really blame him—the former protector was the only one in the group that hadn’t spoken to or even seen humans before.
“Try not to jump to any conclusions and start shooting unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Gilag cautioned his friend as they headed down the ramp into the rain. “As far as we know, their intentions are completely benign. Keep that in mind.”
“Sure,” Tulkoj responded, gripping his laser rifle even more tightly. Obviously, he was still thinking about the reason he lost his protector’s job in the first place. He was taking his duty to protect Gilag this time around extremely seriously. Just as obviously, he didn’t want to talk about it. Gilag nodded and looked into the forest ahead.
“They’ll be in that direction,” Mezaz said, gesturing with the light attached to his laser rifle. “There’s a pathway a few hundred strides in that direction.” Mezaz had been here once before, traveling with two Zhirrzh warriors on a scout mission to find the lost elder, Prr’t-zevisti. Then, of course, it had been in broad daylight with a clear sky. Still, he knew the terrain well enough from his previous stay on Dorcas.
As they walked, Gilag looked around curiously at the native plant life. It was a lush and looked in the dim light to be mostly green and yellow. Leaves were thin, with jagged edges. Several plants had thick groups of needles protruding in many directions. Something glimmered in the distance. Gilag squinted at it, but it was gone, and too far away to see where it came from.
“See something?” Dawan-a inquired, looking intently in the same direction.
“Probably nothing,” he replied, giving up. There was nothing to see but blackness and rain. “Likely just water reflecting off of a rock.”
“Ah,” she said, sounding a bit disappointed. She had, he remembered, shown great interest in Dorcas’ native fauna. So far, barring the plants themselves, they hadn’t encountered anything that looked remotely alive. They’d have to remember to ask for some information on animal life later.
T’rokik floated silently above them, watching for signs of movement. The rain passed straight through his ethereal figure to splash on the ground below. Gilag shivered. Although he couldn’t say he was looking forward to eldership, the lack of physical presence obviously had its advantages. The the icy-cold rain was pouring down so thickly it was impossible to see more than 20 feet ahead on the trail they followed. His tail had all but stopped spinning, his body’s automatic attempt to preserve heat.
A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the area, every droplet of rain reflecting the blinding rays for a split second. Thunder boomed out through the forest, and Gilag could almost swear he could feel the ground shaking beneath his feet. The Zhirrzh blinked and shook his head—the residual glow floated in front of his eyes, a purple and green blob that refused to go away.
These were not, as Nzz-oonaz had said, ideal negotiating conditions. Gilag steeled himself and continued onward, trying hard to push away the nagging fear in the back of his mind—the fear that something was about to go very wrong.
It was twelve minutes past midnight when the Zhirrzh arrived, six of them. At first glance, they looked almost pitiful—soaking wet, with their tails dragging in the mud. But two of them carried flashlight-equipped laser rifles, and all held their heads high, gazing at Bronski with a majestic and, he thought, rather malevolent gaze.
But that didn’t mean anything. The Mrachanis had almost glowed with innocence and harmlessness, and obviously that hadn’t reflected their intentions very accurately. Bronski, Cavanagh, and Kolchin could attest to that. Several Zhirrzh soldiers were now dead as well, thanks to the Mrach “diplomats” that had arrived on Dorcas a little over a month ago.
No, Bronski corrected himself. Not dead, “raised to eldership.” Floating around back on whatever planet they came from, able to flit from place to place and eavesdrop on private conversations. The idea of alien ghosts still didn’t particularly appeal to him, but it was something he was going to have to get used to around here. Indeed, a quick glance revealed a shimmering elder floating above the Zhirrzh. Great.
The center alien stepped forward.
“Hello,” he said in perfectly accented English. “I am Gilag. These are my colleagues Dawan-a, Svv-Selic, and Nzz-oonaz.” He gestured to the three Zhirrzh behind him. These are our protectors Mezaz and Tulkoj, and my father T’rokik. I already know some of you, as do Dawan-a and T’rokik. You know us by different names, but they were required to be changed by the Overclan.”
Bronski glanced at Cavanagh. The other man was looking as mystified as he was. Nevertheless, he appeared to make up his mind and started forward.
“I am Lord Stewart Simon Cavanagh,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ve been asked by the Commonwealth to return to service as a negotiator, and I’d like to formally welcome you to our worlds.”
Gilag gazed at the proffered hand with an expression Bronski could only deduce was bewilderment. After a moment, Cavanagh withdrew it with a wry expression on his face. “I guess we can handle that later,” he said. “These are Brigadier Bronski, his associates Daschka and Cho Ming, my daughter Melinda Cavanagh, and Kolchin.”
“Honored,” the Zhirrzh said, nodding at each in turn. He was, Bronski thought, doing an exceptional job of picking up human mannerisms, even if his knowledge of actual customs was sketchy. “The negotiations are to begin tomorrow, then? These conditions are less than ideal.”
“Yeah,” Bronski cut in gruffly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kolchin tense up. Did the bodyguard see something? “Unless there’s something you’d like to talk about now.”
Suddenly, the elder floating above them twisted in midair and shot down, yelling something at Gilag.
“Down!” Kolchin yelled, his pistol in his hand. Bronski dropped into a crouch, drawing his own weapon from inside his jacket. In his peripheral vision he saw the Zhirrzh had done the same—
And suddenly the woods erupted with gunfire. Laser beams and flashes of human weapons were lighting up the forest in all directions. Caught completely flat-footed, Cavanagh took a shot to the shoulder and fell to the ground. T’rokik appeared next to him.
“Bronski!” he shouted, his eyes wide with alarm. “Why do you do this?” “They’re not ours,” Bronski grunted, squinting past the elder and trying to get a glimpse of who was shooting at them. No use.
He looked at the two armed Zhirrzh who’d accompanied Gilag onto the platform. They were shooting back into the woods, their laser rifles cutting searing lines of steam through the droplets of rain. Whatever was going on here, the official Zhirrzh party was apparently on their side. Daschka and Cho Ming had obviously figured that out as well. They were already cooperating with the Zhirrzh protectors, laying out suppression fire as Kolchin picked out shadowy targets moving between the trees.
“We can’t keep this up, Bronski,” the bodyguard shouted over his shoulder. “Get everyone into the ship.” Bronski nodded and looked at the two Cavanaghs. They were already moving across the ground on their stomachs, shouting to the Zhirrzh. The aliens replied, looking at each other suspiciously. Bronski couldn’t really blame them—this was about as neat and obvious a setup for a trap as they came. Except that it wasn’t.
Bronski hoped the Cavanaghs would be able to convince Gilag and company of that on their own, returned his attention to shooting at trees. The enemy gunfire wasn’t letting up, but the supply boxes and other equipment strewn across the landing pad served as adequate cover for the most part. He chanced a look behind him. The Zhirrzh were on their way.
“Kolchin! Go!” Bronski yelled over the roar of gunfire. Kolchin pulled something from his jacket and tossed into the woods opposite the ship. They were rewarded with a concussive boom resulting in considerably less gunfire from that direction. The man pulled a second grenade from his jacket and dropped it on the ground near the entry ramp of the ship. It began pouring smoke, obscuring the ramp from view.
Bronski signaled the Zhirrzh and Cavanaghs to stand up and make a break for the ship. They did so, keeping low as they wove between the boxes. One of them straightened up for a moment to reorient himself—
And was instantly doubled over and on his knees, his tail twitching violently back and forth. Bronski could see a bit of blood splattered on his torso. He gritted his teeth and moved across the pad in that direction. The Cavanaghs were already there, lifting the alien’s arms over their shoulders and half-dragging him up the ramp.
The protectors stood at the ramp’s bottom, the beams from their rifles clearly visible through the smoke. Bronski glanced around. Daschka and Cho Ming were nowhere in sight, probably inside the ship already. Kolchin was halfway up the ramp, still blasting away with his pistol.
“Bronski, come on!” Bronski’s flechette gun clicked empty. The brigadier tossed it to the ground and sprinted across the pad towards the ramp. Supply boxes on either side of him blew apart as they were caught by high-powered rifle rounds. He glanced behind him as he passed the protectors, and nearly tripped. Standing in the glow of the landing floodlights was a Bhurt.
Holding over its shoulder a NorCoord rocket launcher.
Kolchin was once again firing round after round at the Bhurt, but without effect. The protectors had dropped down into crouches, fiddling with their weapons. And jabbering at each other in Zhirrzh. What did they think they were doing? They were about to get blown to pieces here and now was their time to play these stupid games?
One of them stood up, his laser beam spread into a wide flash. It tracked along the ground with no effect—it was defocused, harmless. The Zhirrzh suddenly jerked it upward, sweeping it across the Bhurt’s face. Forgetting the rocket launcher for a moment, the Bhurt pawed at its eyes with one hand, yelling something in a language Bronski didn’t recognize. At that moment the other protector took aim, and fired.
Directly into the barrel of the rocket launcher. The Bhurt never even realized what had happened, exploding into a spectacular fireball before Bronski’s eyes. The Brigadier was momentarily blinded, trying to blink the flash out of his vision, as Kolchin caught his arm and hauled him bodily into the ship.
------------------
Map-Review | My Portfolio | The Matrix: Unplugged
Banks and banks of humming machinery! I've never seen so many knobs. We're going to have to do something, Charlie! Try pushing that button there. No? How about that one? No, not that one either. I know! I'll try pushing this one. Hold my hat will you? Good fellow.
[This message has been edited by Thrawn42689 (edited August 13, 2004).]
![[http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif]](http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif "http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif")
