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Zargon clearly Broghuilio as had been suspected had led to the irreparable
animosity that had set Cerios and Lambia on their course for war. Yet from the
things learned in the Shapieron's reconnaissance visits, it needn't have
happened, even at this late stage. The Cerians knew. Their military had gotten
wind of the plot and sent a warning to the security people, but somebody there
sat on it. The affair caused a scandal, heads rolled, and jobs were lost, but
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that all came too late to change the course of events.
Garuth and the others up on the ship might have figured it out as well, of
course, but Hunt had no way of knowing that, or what they might have been able
to do about it if they had. So that left Hunt and the rest of them here, down
on the surface. But what could they do, locked up under armed guard and
without communications?
The only possibility he could think of was to find some way of rocking
Freskel-Gar's confidence before his position became unassailable, which might
cause him to have second thoughts. Hunt did a mental tally of the resources at
their disposal that might be brought to bear. They didn't amount to much. They
had arrived in a starship that was far beyond present Minervan technology, but
so had Broghuilio and his Jevlenese in fact, five starships, no less. True,
the Shapieron was capable of independent operation whereas the Jevlenese ships
depended on facilities that didn't exist yet in this universe, but the point
probably wouldn't impress itself upon Freskel-Gar in the space of the next few
hours, which was what mattered. They were in the company of aliens of a kind
that had vanished from Minerva in the distant past, and while that would be a
source of boundless interest to scientists, academics, archeologists, and the
like, it was unlikely to overwhelm somebody of Freskel-Gar's practical
disposition. The kind of aliens more likely to capture his attention would be
ones who talked of war and brought weapons, and he already had those in the
form of Broghuilio and the Jevlenese.
The only thing left, then, was to resort to bluff. They knew, and Freskel-Gar
would have no way of explaining how they knew, that the Cerian presidential
plane was about to be shot down by a missile that it seemed pretty likely was
Freskel-Gar's doing. If strangers appearing from another world knew about it,
wouldn't it seem probable that many other interests on Minerva that could
prove problematical were likely to find out too? Freskel-Gar came across as a
sharp calculator. Maybe he could be induced to reconsider letting the
assassination go ahead if it seemed more likely to lead to consequences that
would undermine his situation rather than solidify it. At least it was a
tangible aim. Whatever happened after that could follow as it came.
That much having presented itself, and not a lot else, Hunt indicated by
gestures to the guards that he wanted to talk. One of them motioned him
across. Hunt got up and approached, accompanied by curious looks from the
others. The guard indicated for him to stop a good eight feet away. "There,
you [something-something]."
"Talk Lambia prince." Hunt indicated the door. "Freskel-Gar."
The guard shook his head. "No talk. Highness [unintelligible] other man."
Trying to bridge between old Lambian and later Jevlenese was tedious. Having
ZORAC around made a big difference. The thought suddenly gave Hunt an idea of
how he might be able to use this to get access to ZORAC. He mustered what he
could recall of the smattering of Cerian he had picked up in their
reconnaissance interviews and strung a few words together in an improvised
sentence. The guard shook his head again.
"Cerian, no understand."
Hunt gestured again and made his voice urgent, mixing Lambian and Cerian words
as if he didn't know the difference. "Must . . . important . . . Freskel-Gar .
. . danger." The other guard muttered something and tapped on the door. It was
opened from the other side, and he left.
"Stay," the first guard commanded. Hunt complied, feeling a bit like a dog
being trained. He hadn't exactly been planning on going anywhere.
After a wait the door opened again, and the second guard reappeared. "Come
talk [something] prince [something] quick."
The guard brought Hunt back to the communications center where they had been
before. Things were still hectic. Freskel-Gar was talking to some officers and
consulting a battery of screens displaying terrain and city maps. One showed
the Shapieron hanging in space. Whether it was coming from a Minervan
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astronomical observatory or surveillance gear deployed by the Jevlenese
somewhere, there was no way of telling. To his alarm, Hunt saw that one of the
full-size surface landers was pulling away from it, having evidently just
detached. The only reason to be using it would be to carry everyone who had
been on board. But before Hunt could think any more about what it might mean,
Freskel-Gar turned.
"Well?"
"Hunt," Hunt said, pointing to himself.
"What do you want?"
Feeling mildly foolish, Hunt smiled ingratiatingly and went into his act of
mixing up the languages again. Freskel-Gar frowned as he tried to follow.
"Apologies," Hunt said. "Know Cerian more. Easier with starship translator
computer." It was one way of getting access to ZORAC, anyway. Quite ingenious,
even if he did think so himself.
"Not necessary," Feskel-Gar said. "We can get you a Cerian translator."
* * *
Laisha sat with Farrissio and the other Cerians who had been inside the
Agracon's secure zone. They were in a dingy room that looked like some kind of
store, somewhere on the level where the communications room was situated,
below the main building. She was still bewildered and had no idea what was
happening. The crash from the euphoria she had been feeling less than an hour
previously had been so total and sudden that she still wasn't capable of
thinking clearly. This couldn't be happening, not after Harzin and Perasmon's
speech, the reconciliation between their two countries, and everything it
implied. She had tried to tell herself several times that at was all a bad
dream and force herself to wake up. But there wasn't any waking up. It was
happening.
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
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