should go ahead," Paul repeated, trying to fend him off.
"I must have heard that wrong, too," Lorne said. He evaded his father's brushing movements with ease and moved up beside him, wrapping his arm around the older man's waist. Paul tried to push the arm away, but Lorne had locked the servos and the arm wasn't going anywhere. "Just relax and let me take the weight."
"I thought we taught you to respect your elders' wishes," Paul grumbled as they headed toward the door. Still, he had to admit this was a lot easier than trying to limp around on his own.
"Stop having silly wishes and I will," Lorne said. "Easy now, and watch the door jamb."
Jin and Zoshak were standing behind the helm console when Paul and Lorne reached the bridge. Between them, Paul could see the Troft at the helm, and the fluttering arch currently being formed by his upper-arm radiator membranes. Something was wrong, all right. "What have we got?" he asked, glancing around at the other Trofts at their stations. All of them were showing the same degree of stress as the helmsman.
[The Drim'hco'plai invaders, they have returned,] a Troft voice came from the side of the room.
Paul looked toward the voice. The ship's master, Ingidi-inhiliziyo—Warrior to all the humans aboard except Croi, who could actually pronounce the alien's name—was standing by the communications board, resplendent in the red heir-sash that identified him as the second in line to the Tlos'khin'fahi demesne-lord. Unlike the other Trofts on the bridge, his radiator membranes weren't fluttering, but were barely extended from his arms.
But then, a Troft of his rank and position was supposed to stay calmer than his crew. "How seriously have they returned?" Paul asked.
[A siege, they have mounted one at all Qasaman cities.] Warrior said. [Our presence, they demand an explanation of it.]
A hollow feeling formed at the pit of Paul's stomach. He'd assumed the invaders would run home with their tails tucked, where they would regroup, re-strategize, and collect fresh ships and soldiers before taking another crack at the Qasamans.
Yet here they were, already well into a fresh campaign. Clearly, they were more determined than he'd realized.
And with that, everything he and Jin and the others had discussed and thought about and planned over the past five days was gone. With the invaders already back and settled into siege mode, there was no way Ingidi-inhiliziyo could get his ship close enough to Sollas to offload the Isis equipment and hide it in the depths of the hidden subcity.
That was bad enough. But for Paul and Jin personally, it was even worse.
Because the Qasamans' best medical facilities were in the cities. A siege of those cities meant that Paul's ravaged leg would not, in fact, be healed. Not any time soon.
Nor would the tumor that was slowly killing his beloved wife be removed.
"Maybe there's still a way," Lorne murmured hesitantly from his side. "It's possible Warrior can play the demesne-heir card and get us permission to land at least somewhere near Sollas. If the subcity extends outside the city wall, maybe we can get some of Isis into it without the invaders noticing."
[The cities, permission to land there we may not have,] Warrior said. [Such instruction, it has already been achieved.]
"But you're a demesne heir," Lorne pressed. "Can't you do something?"
"It would serve no purpose for us to land there, Lorne Moreau," Zoshak said quietly, his eyes on one of the helm displays. "Sollas is gone."
Jin caught her breath. "What?"
[The truth, show it to them,] Warrior ordered.
[The order, I obey it.] The helm officer touched a switch, and a section of the wraparound display changed from a view of the stars around the ship to a close-up of the planet ahead.
Paul felt his lips curl back from his teeth. Zoshak was exaggerating, but not by much. Probably a third of the city was still there, mostly the southern and eastern sections, snugged up inside their outer wall.
But the