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of them there could perhaps be avoided. Why should they live like thieves in
hiding among hostelries provided by Freskel-Gar, when they could base
themselves in a functioning starship?
He had more running in his favor than just the weaponry, the ship, and
knowledge of how to use them, Broghulio had decided. There was also the
psychological factor. The Lambians and the Cerians walked around in uniforms,
held exercises, and drew plans on maps, but they were still playing at being
soldiers. He had the records of two thousand years of Earth's history to go
on. Having been entrusted with its surveillance by the Thuriens had definite
advantages.
* * *
So they were playing that kind of game, were they? Freskel-Gar was conscious
of his staff officers around him, outwardly impassive but waiting to see his
reaction. He reassessed his situation rapidly. The destruction of whatever the
objects had been that Broguilio ordered taken out had demonstrated the potency
of his weapons. But before the Giants' craft arrived, Broghuilio had been
willing to join Lambia as an equal partner. Now, all of a sudden, he was
foregoing all else to get his hands on the Giants' ship. So maybe there was
some substance after all to Hunt's claim that it had things going for it that
Broghuilio's ships didn't. Freskel-Gar was feeling less sure about the
formidable ally that he had thought he could count on. He needed to improve
his own bargaining position drastically.
"The Jevlenese general Wylott is asking what's happening," an aide reported,
gesturing toward one of the consoles a short distance away. The transmission
from the ships on Farside would have been lost at Dorjon also.
"Tell him we're looking into it," Freskel-Gar replied.
Broghuilio was not in control of the Giants' ship yet. Maybe there was a way
of leveling the situation. Hadn't Hunt said something about the translating
device being the starship's computer? It would presumably have a picture of
the situation out there on the other side of the Moon that it might be
disposed to share. If nothing else, that would show Freskel-Gar's staff that
they didn't need to await Broghuilio's pleasure to be informed as to what was
going on.
Freskel-Gar indicated the screen that had been displaying the starship. "Do we
still have the connection via that shuttle they landed in that's standing out
back?"
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The colonel checked with the engineering chief. "It's still there. There's
just nothing coming over it."
"Can we activate it somehow?"
The engineering chief moved behind the chairs of the operators manning a
section of equipment. "It seemed to be voice driven." He raised his tone and
addressed a grille. "Hello? . . . Testing? . . . This is Melthis calling the
ship." There was no response.
"Try Cerian," someone suggested. "The aliens spoke some Cerian." It did no
good.
"How about these?" Another engineer produced the collection of headbands, ear
pieces, and wrist sets that had been taken from the captives. Nothing worked.
"There's probably some kind of activation code word," the engineering chief
said.
Freskel-Gar frowned in annoyance. "Is that human who wanted to talk to it
still out there?" he asked. "The one called Hunt."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Bring him back in."
The colonel went out to the ante-room and came back with Hunt. Using signs and
words, the engineering chief explained the problem. Hunt turned to the grille
that was connected to the channel being relayed through the shuttle.
"ZORAC?"
"Yes, Vic?" a voice replied.
* * *
ZORAC integrated the data from its external sensors to compose a
representation of the five Jevlenese vessels closing in around the Shapieron
to command it from all sides. As instructed by Garuth before he and the others
evacuated the ship, ZORAC had opened the main docking bay doors. As it
watched, processing and evaluating the incoming data, three things happened
simultaneously.
A communications processor forwarded a message received via the probe
positioned to provide a signal path around the Moon. It was an acknowledgment
from the Lambian embassy in Osserbruk, the Cerian capital. This was ZORAC's
latest try at getting through to the Cerian President's Office, after its
attempt via the National Aerospace Directorate hadn't worked.
Vic Hunt reappeared, after a long delay, on the channel to the shuttle that
had landed in Melthis.
And the Jevlenese leader, Broghuilio, initiated contact over the link that
Garuth had told ZORAC to keep open to the Jevlenese flagship. "I am calling
the Shapieron."
"Shapieron. I hear you," ZORAC replied.
"Am I talking to the ship's controlling AI?"
"You are."
"We are about to come aboard, as was previously advised."
"I understand."
"Confirm that the vessel had been evacuated of all occupants."
"Confirmed." They were now in the surface lander that had withdrawn far
outside the screen of Jevlenese ships. Garuth had yielded to the threat of
violence against those down on the surface. ZORAC concluded that bioforms had
their built-in operating directives too.
Broghuilio appeared less sure of the fact, however. ZORAC read the expression,
pattern of muscles tensions, and intonations of voice that it had learned to
associate with human uncertainty and apprehension. "I just wish to remind you
of the fate of the Thurien devices that appeared here immediately before the
Shapieron," Broghuilio said. "The weapons responsible are trained on your
ship, and also on the lander that is standing off outside the limit. We expect
to be received aboard the Shapieron without interference or any clever
surprises. I hope the implications are clear. Do I make myself understood?"
"Perfectly."
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ZORAC had no surprises waiting. Even if it had conceived any, with the
Ganymeans and their human friends in jeopardy it would have been unable to act
on it.
* * *
Frenda Vesni sat listening to Negrikof bellowing in the next room. She had
just put a call through from a secretary at the Lambian embassy in Osserbruk,
saying that a message purporting to be from an alien spacecraft in the
vicinity of Minerva had warned that President Harzin's plane was going to be
shot down. Ironically, the Lambian had ended up being routed through to the
same desk as the alert from NAD earlier.
"Look, what is this? Doesn't anyone have any sense of discrimination left
anymore? . . . No, I don't take it seriously. . . . Because we've had it going
on all day. There's some hackers loose who are having what they think is fun,
and that people like you and me have got nothing better to do. . . . No,
because if I did that every time . . ."
Another indicator flashed on Vesni's desk. The head and shoulders appeared of
a man in Army uniform. "This is Frenda Vesni."
"Is that Intel Dir? I was told I need to speak with Zumo Negrikof. It's very
urgent."
"He's on a call to the Lambian embassy right at this minute. I'm his second.
Can I help you?"
"I'm not sure it can wait. I really need to talk to someone in the President's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]