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a grimace. "Right up to the point where it rose up and strangled him." He took a sip from his cup. "I don't like this, Thrr-gilag. None of it. Especially this whole Mrachani business."

"Anything specific?"

"The whole thing strikes me as just a little too simplistic," Nzz-oonaz said. "They fire on the Cakk'rr ship with Elderdeath weapons but completely ignore my question as to why. They sleep practically the whole way back from Base World Twelve-which conveniently keeps them from having to answer any questions, you'll note-coming out of it just long enough to let us know they speak the Human language. We get here, and again they come up just long enough to deliver a plea for help before dropping back down again. You'd think that after four fullarcs they'd be healing and getting stronger, but you wouldn't know it from their behavior or metabolic readings."

Thrr-gilag thought about that. The complete lack of communication with the Mrachanis during the trip here had bothered him, too. "Still, it's not completely unreasonable," he said. "Without a biochemical/metabolic baseline, there's really no way to know how bad their injuries are."

Nzz-oonaz grunted. "Yes. Again, how convenient for them."

"You think they're spies for the Human-Conquerors, Searcher?" one of the Overclan youths asked.

"That's one possibility," Nzz-oonaz said. "Another is that they're fish lures, sent here to spin us this tale of a subjugated people eager to recruit allies. We go to their aid, and they promptly turn around and slice us in the neck. We've certainly done that sort of thing often enough to each other."

For a few hunbeats no one spoke. Thrr-gilag sipped at his drink, listening to the swirl of other conversations as he looked around the tavern. It was a mixed lot there this postmidarc, with little if any attention being paid to the old traditional standards of social and clan stratification that used to be the norm of Zhirrzh society. Construction and maintenance workers, professional people like searchers and advocates, even a scattering of warriors from the Unity City bases-all sitting or standing and drinking together. Over and through it all floated a mobile cloud of Elders, listening or joining in the conversations or just watching. Some scrutinized the unseemly mixing of social strata with undisguised disapproval; others watched the eating and drinking with wistfulness or equally undisguised envy.

Mostly, though, their expressions seemed to match those of the physicals around them. Like everyone else, the Elder community was worried.

"Perhaps we're being too cynical," another of the Overclan youths at the table said. "Perhaps the Mrachanis are being completely sincere. I can see where these Human-Conquerors would be pretty terrifying to everyone."

Thrr-gilag looked at the grim expression on Nzz-oonaz's face.If you only knew the half of it, he thought silently at the youth. "I'm sure we'll find out firsthand about that soon enough," he said aloud. "Speaking of Human attacks, Nzz-oonaz, has anyone been able to confirm yet whether the warcraft that hit the pyramid on Study World Eighteen were the same ones that hit us five tentharcs later?"

"I doubt it," Nzz-oonaz said. "From what I've heard, the pyramid on Study World Eighteen had mostly construction and structural engineer types aboard, there to study the ruins of that city. They didn't have any actual alien specialists along."

Thrr-gilag nodded heavily. Which meant there'd been no one there with the training to sort out the fine details of a specific alien's face or body type or stance, or who could memorize the unintelligible wing markings on an alien warcraft. "Typical," he said to Nzz-oonaz.

"You got that right," Nzz-oonaz grunted. "Bored Elders falling all over each other looking for something to do, but no one thought about putting an alien specialist'sfsss cutting out there."

Thrr-gilag flicked his tongue. "Backsight is always so much clearer," he reminded the other. "Any