James Hogan - Mission to Minerva

After she saw Mera Dukrees being led back inside after trying to get back to the delegation's offices before they were occupied, the Lambian NCO took her to the guard post outside the restaurant building and waited with her until an escort appeared to conduct her to the communications room, where she had been heading in response to Farrisio's summons. But she never got as far as the communications room. She and her escort were stopped along the way by a Lambian officer with some soldiers and diverted to another room, where Farrisio and the others with him were by then being held. Farrisio hadn't realized the situation at the time he called her over, and had attributed it to a misunderstanding when he found himself suddenly being hustled out of the communications room. Prince Freskel-Gar had appeared with an entourage as the Cerians were being brought to their present location. The only thing Laisha could conclude was that he opposed Perasmon's position and was making a bid to take control of Lambia himself. She didn't know if Uthelia had managed to get the warning off to Kles's friend at NEBA, or even if she had attempted to, because Dukrees never arrived at the press office. So now all she could do was sit and stare at the stacks of boxes and the bare walls, ducting, and pipes, nursing a remnant of hope that she might still wake up.

The sound came of the door being unlocked. Everyone looked up. A Lambian woman in some kind of uniform stepped in, leaving a guard framed in the doorway behind. "There is a translator here?" the woman said, addressing the room in general. The Cerians exchanged uncertain looks among themselves. Some came to rest on Laisha. She tried to speak up, found that her voice caught in her throat, and had to swallow to clear it.

"I am a translator."

"You are wanted. Come this way."

Accompanied by the guard, they followed corridors full of hurrying figures to a set of double doors with guards posted on either side, and then through to an anteroom where uniformed clerks were working at desks and consoles. The woman signed for Laisha to wait there with the guard and went forward to say something to an officer stationed in front of the inner door. He nodded and disappeared inside, giving a momentary glimpse of a bright area filled with screens and communications equipment. Laisha gulped as she recognized the sharp-faced, mustachioed figure of the Lambian crown prince, wearing the uniform of an army field marshall, at the center of a gaggle of officers and aides. They waited while figures entered and left. Couriers arrived at intervals through the outer door to deliver messages to the clerks.

Eventually, the officer who had gone inside reappeared with another, wearing a Lambian colonel's uniform. Another man was with them, of unusual appearance. His clothes were unlike any that Laisha had seen before, and he stood tall and long-limbed, with uncommonly fair skin, more pink than brown, and hair that was light too, and bent into waves. His eyes were also lighter than any she had seen, and were, quick, missing nothing. They lingered for an instant on the guard and the woman who had brought Laisha from the room the Cerians were being detained in, came back to Laisha, and seemed to read the situation immediately. He caught her gaze and grinned. Laisha didn't know how to respond and glanced away, keeping a straight face.

"The Cerian translator," the woman in uniform said.

"We need help with this stranger." The colonel turned his head toward the light-skinned man, inviting him to speak.

The fast clipper from Thurien docked inside a bay in the central part of MP2. Calazar and a group of scientists from the Quelsang Multiporter were met by the Assistant Controller for the MP3 Gate and an assistant. The party hurried through to the facility's control center. Virtual travel was conventionally regarded as suitable for conducting routine business or for relaxation and pleasure, unless no alternative was possible. On this occasion, it would hardly have been considered appropriate.

"What's the news?" Calazar asked when they arrived at the glass-walled gallery looking out across space toward the distant array of projector bells and associated constructions. Caldwell was already connected through from Earth, superposed visually in an avco window.

The Controller looked grave. "Nothing, I'm afraid. There's not a trace. It's completely dead."

Calazar had pretty much known. If anything had changed, he would have heard. He gestured imploringly. "Is there nothing that can be done? It's not possible for VISAR to conduct some kind of search?"

"There's nothing to search for. If the beacons are dead, they are invisible in M-space. So is the Shapieron. The only way to find the universe it's in would be by sending an instrument probe to try and match the environment and look for it. The number of times you'd have to do that to have any chance of success appreciably greater than zero makes it simply not practicable."

"But there's a huge number of universes out there that will have versions of the same thing going on, right?" Caldwell said. "Doesn't that even up the odds a bit?"

"Marginally," the Controller agreed. "But you're still up against the sparse distribution statistics that we encountered earlier." He rubbed his brow for a moment between his two thumbs. "Also, even if we were extraordinarily lucky and did hit on a universe with the Shapieron there, we'd have no way of knowing that it was 'our' Shapieron, if you know what I mean. In fact, the overwhelming likelihood would be that it wasn't. With an operating beacon, its umbilical connects uniquely back to our universe here. There might have been countless versions of it, but that made it 'our' beacon, in the same universe as 'our' Shapieron. Now that no longer applies."

"As long as they got back, I'm not sure they'd be too particular," Caldwell answered.

The girl had the typically short and round build of a Lunarian, with what would have passed for Mediterranean skin on Earth. Her hair was straight and black, with almond eyes that looked Oriental and made her quite pretty. She was dressed in a plain beige trouser tunic with a high neck, a brown sleeveless over-vest, and carrying some kind of bag. The woman with her had said "the Cerian translator." The girl hadn't been brought through into the communications room, where the Shapieron was still showing on one of the large screens. An armed guard was standing a few paces back. Hunt guessed that the word was meant literally, and the girl was from the Cerian technical delegation known to have been in Melthis as a prelude to Harzin's visit. That made it somewhat difficult for him to be too explicit in revealing what he knew about the assassination plot. Bluntly stating the facts through somebody from the other side would place her at an unknown risk, which would be unconscionable. Hunt couldn't even be sure that the Lambian officer who had brought him out to the ante-room was in on it. Banking that the woman and the officer were not linguists, Hunt switched to more coherent Cerian than he had shown previously, when he was trying to gain access to ZORAC.

"Officer represents prince? Are you a Cerian prisoner?"

The girl looked startled for a moment but composed herself, catching on quickly and translating the first question only. She relayed back the colonel's answer, "You may talk to him. Freskel-Gar is very busy at present." Then added, "Yes, with the Cerian technical group."

"Tell him the visitors know things. Very important Freskel-Gar be aware. Plane is in danger."

"The colonel asks, what things? Who are you? How do you know?"

"We know the action, event planned today that involves missile. We know who is responsible. If we know, others will know. Lambia will stand… guilty, to be blamed. Very complicated. Don't endanger yourself." The officer's expression conveyed that it didn't mean much to him. Hunt persisted, "Freskel-Gar should know that ships of other visitors have limited power. Cannot be refilled. Soon useless. Bad bargain. The large ship is good… for a long time. Without limit. The Giants have returned."