"They're still doing studies," the technic said, the last word almost lost in the brief screech of ceramic against ceramic as the tissue analyzer came up off the floor and onto the carrier. "So far they're as puzzled as the healers are."

There was a flicker beside Thrr-gilag, and Chrr't-ogdano was back. "I have a pathway to Commander Thrr-mezaz," he growled. "Begin."

"This is Thrr-gilag," Thrr-gilag said, wondering what had taken Chrr't-ogdano so long. There was supposed to be a permanent straight-line pathway between here and all three of the Zhirrzh beachheads. Had something gone wrong? "Base World Twelve was attacked about six tentharcs ago by Human fighter warcraft of the type described in your last report. Question: are you certain both of those warcraft are still on Dorcas?"

Chrr't-ogdano nodded and vanished again. Thrr-gilag waited, watching the technic maneuver the tissue analyzer to the door and counting the time to himself. It would take around fifteen beats, he estimated, for each repetition of the message, beginning with whichever communicator Chrr't-ogdano had made contact with on the Zhirrzh homeworld of Oaccanv. From that Elder, then to another, and possibly another, until the message reached the shrine of someone who was also serving as communicator with the Dorcas ground force. Then a similar delay as Thrr-mezaz's return message wended its way back along the same route. The last time he'd talked with someone at the Dorcas beachhead, the round trip had taken roughly 120 beats. It ought to be something similar this time.

He was up to 190 beats when Chrr't-ogdano reappeared. " 'Both warcraft are still here,' " he delivered the message. " 'Are you injured, my brother?' "