Mission to Minerva

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Broghuilio stared incredulously at the image framed in the long-range surveillance shot. There could be no mistaking the form with its sleek curving lines, flaring at the stern into four swept tail surfaces. The last time he had seen the Shapieron, it was closing in on his ships fleeing from Jevlen. If it hadn't been for those Ganymeans from the past and their accursed starship, the whole conspiracy of circumstances that had resulted in him and his Jevlenese being flung into this predicament would never have happened. A vein began throbbing in his neck. He could feel the self-control and sense of staying on top of events despite all that had taken place starting to slip.

"How did that get here?" he whispered, turning his face belligerently to Estordu.

The scientist made a helpless gesture. "I can only conjecture that it came through the tunnel with us."

"I thought your experts assured us there was no trace of anything else. They said it was just us."

"I… must take it that they were mistaken."

"Experts!" Broghuilio spat that word and turned away malevolently, his hands clasped behind his back.

"What's happening?" Freskel-Gar demanded from the other screen, having overheard.

"Copy the image through to Dorjon," Broghuilio told the operator.

Freskel-Gar's head turned as he took in the presentation from a different direction. "What is that vessel there? Are you telling me now that your ships were not alone?"

"It's too much to go into now," Broghuilio said. "There seems to be a complication that I was not prepared for. It may call for some quick action."

Freskel-Gar studied him penetratingly from his screen for several seconds, then nodded tightly. "Right now, you obviously know more of the facts than I do. Tell me what you want done." A fast thinker and a realist, at least, Broghuilio granted inwardly.

Broghuilio paced across the bridge, stopping to stare unseeingly at the unmanned flight engineers' stations of his grounded craft while he thought furiously. Then he turned, regarded Estordu and the others for a moment, and wheeled finally to face Freskel-Gar again.

"Another race inhabited Minerva long ago-a race of different beings."

"The ones we call the Giants?"

Broghuilio nodded. "That ship is one of theirs. My ships here are fitted with armaments that they are not aware of, so the advantage is with us."

"They know you are here, then?" Freskel-Gar said.

"Not necessarily."

"Are you saying they didn't follow you? Why else would they be here?"

"It's a complicated matter to go into now. They could be simply searching for our whereabouts. I expect them to try and make contact with you somehow. If we can entice them down to Minerva to negotiate, we will have the potential of surprise on our side. How are communications routed from your satellite ground stations?"

"Via the national telecom net."

"And messages intended for the ruling authority would find their way… where?"

"To the communications room at the Agracon in Melthis. It has direct links to the Military Command Headquarters also."

"It may be necessary to move parts of the plan forward," Broghuilio said. "We need to be in control there. Can your people take over inside the Agracon, now? It's especially important to secure the communications."

Freskel-Gar nodded. "I've got my men in most of the key places already. The important guard details are all ours. They are at mobilization alert."

"Order it at once. How long would it take you to get there from Dorjon to take charge?"

"My staff flyer is manned and standing by. Ten minutes at most."

Broghuilio nodded. "Go there. General WyIott can complete our arrangements at Dorjon." He thought for a moment longer, then added, "And get Hat Rack airborne, in case that needs to be brought forward too."

Freskel-Gar seemed to check through the items in his mind. "Very well," he said, and turned to begin reeling off a list of instructions to his adjutant. Broghuilio turned back to Estordu, who was consulting various data displays.

"What are those other two object that appeared first? The smaller ones. Have you established that?"

"Unfortunately not, Excellency."

"They aren't probes from the Shapieron again, like that one you said was right behind us?"

"No, they are something else. They appear to be of unfamiliar design and purpose."

Broghuilio scowled. The probe had provided the eyes and intelligence for the Shapieron when it was pursuing them. "I don't like it." He called to the ship's captain, who had been obtaining confirmatory readings from one of the other ships. "Bring your secondary laser batteries to firing readiness and keep them trained on those things. Also, have all ships brought up to flight standby." The captain passed on the orders.

"Can I ask our plan, Excellency?" Estordu inquired.

"We have no indication that they are aware of our presence down here. And there is no reason to alert them to it," Broghuilio answered. "We wait."

"It's too close." Eesyan shook his head. "We need to be a few more days further back."

"Call Thurien via the beacon for a correction," Shilohin, the Shapieron's female scientific chief said. "Can VISAR can pitch it finely enough if we're this near?"

"It should be able to," Eesyan answered.

"ZORAC," Garuth called. "Call-"

"No!"

Surprised heads turned toward Frenua Showm.

"No," she said again, and looked around imploringly. "Think what you are saying." She half turned toward the screen next to which Hunt, Danchekker, and Chien were still standing. They had just caught the end of Harzin and Perasmon's address. The two leaders had announced that Perasmon would be returning with Harzin in the Cerian presidential aircraft, and they were already disappearing back inside the doors at the rear of the balcony from where they had been speaking. Some of those who had been with them were following, while another in a uniform had stepped forward and was delivering some closing words. Showm went on, "There's a world full of people down there who have just been given the first hope they've known for years. Real, warm, alive, flesh-and-blood people, like us. They have homes, children, loves, dreams. But we know, you and I know, because we've been in their future, and we've seen the horrors that are in store for them… all the way through to the militarized nightmare that their world will turn into, and its final total destruction. And you're saying that we just call Thurien and go home, and let it happen! How could we, after the things we've seen? The rotting corpses; the lame, the blind, the crippled; the burning cities. How could any of us sleep easily again?"

"We're too close. There isn't enough time-" Eesyan started to say again.

"There is enough time! So Perasmon and Harzin are flying today. How long does a journey halfway around Minerva take with an aircraft of their period? Four hours? Five? We know the plane won't be destroyed until it's approaching the Cerian coast. A missile from something flying at high altitude. The plane's electronics officer even caught it coming in on radar just before it hit. Never mind the spectacular landing and public theatrics that the mission strategy talks about. All we've got to do is access somebody high enough in the chain to divert the flight. The explanations can come later."

"Would we be able to convince them in time?" Duncan Watt asked dubiously. "They have no idea who we are."

"We have several hours," Showm insisted. "Put me on and let me talk to them. A Ganymean. One of the Giants who inhabited Minerva in the distant past. Don't you think that would get their attention?"

Danchekker was shaking his head, at the same time showing his teeth, as if looking for a way to put something delicate without offending. "What you say is true, of course, Frenua. It's all most distressing. But even were we to succeed, it's still merely one infinitesimal sliver in a totality of unimaginable immensity…"

"It's a world of people. Living, thinking, feeling, people."

Hunt pinched his eyebrows together with his thumb and fingers. Danchekker was right, of course. What Danchekker might also have been trying to remind Showm of but wasn't saying was that the future of this world was fixed anyway. Nothing could change it, anymore than a past that had already happened-which of course was what it was. What the mission could hope to achieve, what the physicists and philosophers were still arguing over, was whether an action initiated across the Multiverse would give rise to a new future that had not existed previously. But emotions were running high, and he wasn't about to get into it.

"Whatever we do, I suggest we get on with it," Chien said. "They could be on their way to the airport already."

Although Eesyan was technically in charge of the mission until they made contact with the Lunarians, he inclined his head to concede Showm the floor. "Garuth," she said, "Can you get us a connection? We need the Lambian government system in Melthis-whichever department is the most closely involved in Perasmon's affairs. The best place to start would probably be the Agracon."

The white phone beeped on the desk of Vazquin, the head of the translation section. That was the Agracon's internal system, not connected to the outside. Vazquin was away from his desk at the moment. Laisha turned in her chair and took it. "Cerian translators. Laisha Engs speaking."

"This is Farissio. I'm in the communications room in the main building. We need a translator here. Can you get over immediately?" Farissio was a senior negotiator with the Cerian delegation. He sounded strained.

"Well, yes, of course. What-"

"Just do it, please." Another voice in the background, clipped and harsh, said something that Laisha didn't catch. Farrissio hung up. Mystified, Laisha threw a pen and notebook into the bag that she carried for office chores. The translators' offices were located in one of the peripheral buildings at the rear of the Agracon complex, outside the secure zone that included the main building. To get to the communications room she would need to check in at the guard desk and get a Lambian escort. She made sure that she had her ID and clearance papers, and hurried for the door, followed by one or two curious looks.

Downstairs, Laisha exited through a side door that she had learned led to a short cut, and followed a narrow alleyway along the rear of the VIP transportation garage to a path leading to one of the access roads. Something about the atmosphere of the whole place had changed. Although there was no outward noise or fuss, Lambian soldiers were everywhere, moving swiftly and purposefully. Sudden misgivings seized her that something had gone terribly wrong.

Another alley brought her to a side door of the restaurant and staff cafeteria. Cutting through to the main entrance would bring her out opposite one of the guard posts into the secure zone. She had just entered the building and was following the corridor past the kitchens toward the dining areas, when Mera Dukrees, one of the delegation's technical specialists, came hurrying toward her, apparently taking the same route in the opposite direction. He looked distraught, casting anxious glances back.

"What is it?" Laisha asked.

"I'm not sure. There's some sort of takeover going on. Soldiers herding people around. They've got the whole place sealed off in there."

"How did you get out?"

"An argument broke out at the gate just as I got there. I slipped through. I think it might be a move to overthrow Perasmon." Raised voices and shouts of protest sounded inside the building from the direction of the dining areas. Dukrees gripped Laisha's arm to keep her attention. "But don't you see what it means? If that's what's happening, this is only a part of it. That plane isn't going to get there!"

Laisha shook her head and brought a hand up to her mouth. "Oh no!"

"Were there soldiers back at the offices when you left?" Dukrees asked her.

"They were around outside, but nobody had come in yet."

"There might still be a chance to get word out. Communications from inside the secure zoneare all blocked. Come on."

A short passage off the corridor where they had met led to rest rooms and some stairs. On the wall in a recess by foot of the stairs, Laisha spotted one of the white internal phones. "There's no sense in both of us getting stopped," she said. "You go ahead. I'll try from there." She pointed. Dukrees looked, nodded curtly, and hurried away. Laisha went to the phone and hammered in the number for the press office behind the translators' room. At least, in the side passage she was out of sight from along the corridor. She wasn't even sure what she planned on asking anyone to do.

Ri-ing. Ri-ing. "Oh please, please…"

"Cerian Press Office."

"Uthelia, is that you?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Laisha. Look, there isn't time to explain. That line you had to that person at NEBA in Osserbruk earlier. Is it still open?"

"It should be. Why-"

"I need you to call him again. His name is Wus Wosi."

"Really, all this is most irregular, you-"

"Uthelia, shut up! There isn't time for that! Just call him!"

Laisha's tone was enough. "What do you want me to say?" Uthelia asked, sounding shaken.

Voices sounded at the end of the corridor from the dining areas. "Get three men over here. Check down there. Secure all outside doors."

Laisha forced herself to speak slowly and clearly. "Listen very carefully. There is a Lieutenant Klesimur Bosoros, at a Cerian army base. Wus knows how to contact him. The president's plane is in some kind of danger-I'm not sure exactly what. Bosoros needs to get the message to Cerian High Command." A warning via the military, originating from the Agracon in Melthis, seemed more likely to get attention than an allegation by someone at the NEBA news bureau.

"Are you serious?"

"There's some kind of coup going on. They'll be over there any moment, Uthelia. Just do it."

"Wus Wosi at NEBA. Lieutenant Klesimur… Bosoros?"

"Right."

"You! Phone. No!" The Lambian trooper barked in broken Cerian, at the same time motioning menacingly with his rifle but not pointing it.

"It's okay. I speak Lambian," Laisha said as she replaced the handset.

"Who were you talking to?" an NCO demanded, appearing behind the trooper.

"It's the internal house line. I'm a translator with the Cerian delegation. I was called to the communications room, but I lost the way. I was trying to call for directions."

The Lambian NCO peered at her badge. "Your clearance?" Laisha produced the papers from her bag and waited nervously. "Come with me. I will take you to the security gate out front. You two, carry on."

"Sir."

Laisha emerged with the NCO from the passage just in time to see Mera Dukrees being led back in through the outside door at the far end of the corridor.

The figure looking out of the main screen on the Shapieron's Command Deck was lean and hawk faced, with dark, mobile eyes like a bird's and a pair of tapered mustachios. He wore the uniform of a Lambian field marshall. More figures were standing in the background, some also wearing uniforms, others in civilian clothes. He seemed about as composed as anyone could be expected to be, who within the last few minutes had found themselves talking to a company that included beings from a race that had vanished long ago, speaking from a starship standing somewhere out in space. In fact, Hunt thought he seemed too composed; it was almost as if something like this happened every week.

"The king is at this moment out of the country on state business," Freskel-Gar informed them. "As First Prince of the Realm I am fully able to represent him." News reports from Minerva had confirmed that the plane carrying Perasmon and Harzin had left during the time it had taken the Shapieron to establish the right contact.

"You must have a means of communicating with him," Frenua Showm said.

"By our constitution, I am the official acting head of state in the king's absence," Freskel-Gar replied smoothly. "I welcome you on behalf of the Lambian Crown and its dominions on this truly momentous historic occasion."

"Insisting on going over his head could be offensive," Danchekker said from the side. ZORAC would edit it from the outgoing audio. "We don't know enough about their ways to be able to judge. I wouldn't advise risking it."

They knew that as Perasmon's successor, Freskel-Gar would eventually take a harder line in his dealings with Cerios. But that didn't mean he was committed to such a course today. There was nothing that specifically linked him with the assassinations. All kinds of factions and intrigues abounded on both sides on Minerva, and Freskel-Gar would succeed as king whoever had been responsible.

"The most significant factor, perhaps, is that Broghuilio and the Jevlenese have not arrived here yet," Shilohin offered. After two years of being stationed on Jevlen as planetary administrators on behalf of the Thuriens, the Shapieron Ganymeans had no doubt who had been the cause of the deterioration to all-out war that had followed. "It will be four years before Broghuilio overthrows this Freskel-Gar and proclaims himself dictator. A lot can happen in four years."

Monchar, Garuth's second-in-command on the ship, endorsed the point. "The assassinations would be enough on their own to send things into decline, even without Broghuilio. Especially if each side suspected the other. Preventing them from happening could be the single most important result we could achieve. Failing to do so could make everything else futile."

Showm took a long breath while she composed her words. Then she looked back up at the screen showing Freskel-Gar. "How we know the things that we know is a long and complex story that is better told at a more fitting time. The fact of our appearance should be enough to give ample weight to our words. The aircraft that has just departed from Melthis carrying your two heads of state is in imminent danger of being destroyed. I don't wish to harp over details. There may not be time. But it is imperative that you issue orders immediately for the flight to be rerouted to the nearest safe landing facility until the circumstances are investigated. Then, there are events shortly to befall your world that will have calamitous consequences for all of Minerva if they are not averted. After those things are dealt with, we can talk about the uniqueness of the occasion and the development of relationships between our races."

All eyes around the Command Deck were fixed on the main screen. Freskel-Gar's features knotted as he took in the strange mixed company of vanished aliens and unfamiliar humans. They could almost read his thoughts. Appearing from nowhere and claiming to know our future? And then, again, But beings whose civilization was advanced before we even existed, and a craft that travels from the stars?

"How can you know such things?" he demanded.

Showm emitted a sigh that conveyed impatience being controlled only with difficulty. "I have already said, there isn't time now. All will be explained in due course. For now, just do as we ask. Call down the flight."

Freskel-Gar stared uncertainly for a few seconds longer. Then, seeming to make his mind up, he turned and conferred with the others who were with him. They murmured and gesticulated among themselves for what seemed ages. Hunt caught Danchekker's gaze and just raised his eyebrows. Chien watched impassively. There was nothing for any of them to say.

The deliberations on the screen ended finally, with nods and a couple of people hurrying away. Freskel-Gar advanced the forefront again. "Very well," he said. "Instructions are being issued in accordance with your wishes. We are calling the flight controllers now, and making alternative arrangements for landing." The sighs of relief aboard the Shapieron were audible. Frenua Showm had to put out a hand to steady herself. "And now, perhaps we can give consideration to hearing the rest of what you have to tell us in more propitious surroundings befitting to the circumstances," Freskel-Gar suggested. "It shall be our honor to receive you here, personally, as guests of Minerva. We await your account with considerable impatience and limitless fascination."

Silence endured for a while in the communications room at the Agracon after the screen showing the transmission relayed from tracking stations had cut out. Troops of the Prince's Own Regiment who had secured the building stood at their posts by the doors. Perasmon's staff had all been removed. Freskel-Gar's people manned the consoles and monitor panels.

"Are we done?" the communications major who had taken temporary charge checked.

"Link down. We're off the air," a technician confirmed. Freskel-Gar relaxed and looked inquiringly toward the screen showing Broghuilio and his staff on the bridge of the Jevlenese ship on lunar Farside.

"Splendid!" Broghuilio acknowledged. "An impressive performance, Your Highness. I could almost have believed it too. But I do you a disservice; it is 'Your Majesty' now… Or very soon to be, anyway."