And there it was, at waist height just before the shrine's edge. 39516: her niche. And resting there inside it...
For a handful of beats she gazed through the mesh screen at the fsss that had been surgically removed from behind her brain so many cyclics ago. Such a small and fragile thing, it seemed to her. So unlikely a thing to have been the driving force behind so much of Zhirrzh history.
But it had. And unless she completed what she'd set out to do this fullarc, it would continue to drive her own history as well. For a long, long time.
Heart thudding in her chest, her tail spinning like a foamed-ceramic mixer, she fumbled with suddenly trembling fingers at the mesh door's release catch. It came open with a explosive snap that seemed to echo across the landscape. She glanced quickly around at the protector domes, her tail spinning faster than ever, sure that they must have heard that.
But neither Thrr-tulkoj nor anyone else was in sight. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the niche and lifted the now loosened door—
And without warning a figure stepped around the corner of the shrine, and a hand darted across to lock around her wrist. "I'm sorry, Thrr-pifix-a," Thrr-tulkoj said quietly, taking another step and capturing her other wrist. "You know you can't do that."
"What are you talking about?" Thrr-pifix-a demanded, her voice quavering with shock and frustration despite her best efforts. "I just wanted to look at it."
"Come on," the protector said, pulling her courteously but firmly away from the shrine. Holding her there with one hand, he resealed the mesh door she'd opened. "Come on," he said again, shifting to a hold on her upper arm and guiding her back along the path toward the domes. "I'll take you back to the rail, all right?"
Thrr-pifix-a looked ahead down the path at the glistening mesh of the predator fence, the bitter taste of failure mixing with the kavra juice on her tongue. Just like that, her one chance was gone. "Please, Thrr-tulkoj," she whispered. "Please. It's my fsss. My life. Why can't I do what I want?"
"Because the law says so," he reminded her gently. "Along with hundreds of cyclics of Zhirrzh history."
"Then they're wrong. The law and history both."
"Perhaps," Thrr-tulkoj said. "It wouldn't be the first time tradition and reality had gotten out of step. But my job isn't to make law here. Just to enforce it." He looked sideways at her. "Maybe you should try talking to the family and clan leaders. Present your case to them."
Thrr-pifix-a flicked her tongue in a negative. "They wouldn't listen to me. An old female, without any status or political standing?"
Thrr-tulkoj shrugged. "You never know. Maybe there are others out there thinking the same thing who just haven't had the nerve to talk about it. Anyway, you're not nearly as status poor as you seem to think. What with Thrr-gilag out studying the Human-Conquerors and Thrr-mezaz out fighting them, the family leaders owe you at least a serious hearing. And don't forget, as soon as Thrr-gilag and Klnn-dawan-a are bonded, she can probably talk to the Dhaa'rr clan leaders for you, too."
Thrr-pifix-a sighed. "Perhaps," she said.
But he was wrong, and they both knew it. No clan leaders were going to take the time to hear the babbling plea of an old female. Not even if they weren't in the middle of a war.
It was a long ride back home to Reeds Village. And seemed even longer.
The last page of the last report rolled up off the display, and with a tired sigh the Overclan Prime turned off his reader. So the initial battles were over. The fourth and fifth Zhirrzh beachheads were now established on Human-Conqueror worlds, with encirclement forces on guard overhead. Two more expeditionary forces were preparing even now to lift off the main staging areas on Shamanv and Base World 11, bound for two other Human-Conqueror worlds, with five more groups being assembled from across the eighteen worlds. The reports coming in from captured territory were fairly glowing with success and victory. From all appearances the Zhirrzh counterattack against this new alien threat was going perfectly.
The Prime knew better. The Zhirrzh forces were in fact teetering on the edge of disaster.
The Prime sighed again, leaning back on his couch and staring morosely up at the overview star chart projected on his office wall. The Zhirrzh people didn't realize it, of course. Probably most of the clan Speakers didn't, either. But Warrior Command knew. And so did he.
Because the Human-Conquerors weren't just sitting there accepting their defeats. They'd been taken by surprise, perhaps, by the vigor of the response to their attack on the Zhirrzh survey ships. But that wouldn't last. Already they were gathering their strength and striking back, more often than not with devastating results. The huge Nova-class warcraft mentioned in the captured recorder had made their appearances, as had the awesomely deadly Copperhead warriors. So far all the attacks had been beaten off, but at a steep price. The Kalevala encirclement forces were down to two combat-ready warships; the Massif forces were completely helpless. If the incredibly tough ceramic hulls hadn't disguised the internal damage, the Human-Conquerors would undoubtedly have been back already to finish the job. As it was, the warriors and technics had some breathing space to try to effect repairs.
But they wouldn't have long. These were the Humans. The Conquerors. They would soon be back.
And unless the beachheads had succeeded in locking a critical component away from them, the next time they came, they might have CIRCE with them.
The Prime cursed softly under his breath as he gazed up at the star chart. They were spread too thin. That was the real summation line here: they were spread too cursedly thin. Worse, they were concentrated in the same general part of the Human-Conqueror empire, the sections denoted as Lyra and Pegasus Sectors. The enemy knew where to find them and could bring all their forces to bear with a minimum of logistical trouble.
What the Zhirrzh needed was something to shake up the enemy, something to diffuse their focus. A bold strike into some other area of their empire, perhaps. Maybe even one of their more populous central worlds: Celadon, Prospect, Avon, or even Earth itself. It would be a risk, but a reasonably minimal one as long as they kept the strike brief. With warships impossible to track through the tunnel-line of stardrive, it would be a trivial matter to sneak across the Human-Conqueror empire to whatever world the Zhirrzh warriors chose to hit. At that point the uncertainties would be due mainly to the unknown defenses they'd find at the other end.
"Overclan Prime?" a faint Elder voice came in the silence.
The Prime looked up, stiffening to a respectful posture. Not just an Elder, but one of the twenty-eight Overclan Primes who had gone before him. "Yes, Eighteenth?" he said.
"Your private chambers, if you please," the Eighteenth said shortly. "There are matters we need to discuss."
"Certainly," the Prime said, a twinge of concern flicking through him as he stood up from his couch. The Eighteenth was about as imperturbable a personality as former Primes ever got. For him to be troubled meant something decidedly unpleasant was in the works.
To the average Zhirrzh the Overclan complex was generally seen as a triumph of cooperation, a monument to openness and honesty between the clans. Cooperation there might be, at least after a fashion; the openness, however, was little more than a cleverly structured illusion. The main Overclan Seating chamber itself was open enough, certainly, accessible to Elders from two family shrines and a dozen of the smaller cutting pyramids. But only the chamber itself was accessible. The two office buildings, with their offices, conference rooms, and other work areas, had been carefully positioned to be just out of range of all of them.