"Homing beacon is locked on and checking positive. Backup beacon is functioning. You're set to go. Good luck, Shapieron. Sequencing out… Transferring."
They were back at Minerva, now six months before the sinking of the Cerian frigate Champion. The silence dragged while ZORAC scanned for the probe that had always been the indicator that the Jevlenese had arrived. Every previous reconnaissance had found it not far away from Minerva-which was to be expected if it had only recently arrived. But it used Ganymean h-space signaling, so there would be no noticeable turnaround delay in any case.
"Negative," ZORAC announced. Startled looks, some disbelieving, flashed around the Shapieron's Command Deck. Was this really it, finally?
"Repeat the scan and confirm, ZORAC," Garuth instructed.
A sort delay, then, "No response registering. There's no sign of it."
No probe; no Jevlenese. The mission had arrived.
Hunt ran his eye over the faces. They were tense. This was not another reconnaissance. It was the real thing, what the whole mission had been leading up to. Eesyan was looking at him questioningly. Showm was watching. Danchekker looked on impassively from one side. Hunt returned a faint nod.
"We go with it," Eesyan said to the team waiting at the other end of the link back to Thurien. Calazar and Caldwell were connected in again. It had become a sort of custom. On this occasion they just sent silent salutations.
"Wave function consolidated and stabilized," Garuth confirmed. "Ready to detach."
"Dissolving the Gate bubble."
"Local bubble deactivated." The Shapieron was on its own, a free creature in its natural element once again.
The next thing was to establish the exact date. They knew by now when the Harzin-Perasmon assassination had taken place, and could tune into Lunarian broadcasts. As had previously been decided, VISAR had aimed for as close to that date as its coarse scaling would allow. They expected having to make a few fine corrections to edge closer-ideally to within a couple of days of the incident, which would have Minerva in a hopeful mood, while at the same time allow the mission some margin to make contact and communicate its message to the right people. Hunt moved to where Chien was standing, behind one of the Ganymean crew operators, watching him sift through the Lunarian communications spectrum. A reference to Harzin indicated him to be still alive. Things were looking promising.
"So, are we merely following a path between our reality and this one that was always here?" Danchekker's voice asked from behind Hunt. It was a mild gibe at naturalist materialism. "No, I refuse to believe it. Frenua was right. We are creating a new reality. Whole worlds will come into being from this, Vic." Danchekker had been entertaining some radical departures from his customary habits of thought since getting involved with the Thurien philosophers. Four years ago, Hunt wouldn't have believed it. Once one of the most ardent and inflexible defenders of the theory of mind as simply an emergent property of matter, his latest assertion was that mind is no more an accidental product of nervous systems than the plays of Shakespeare were an accidental product of marks on paper.
"You'll be taking up politics next, Professor," Chien said impishly. "Enrolling in the diplomatic corps."
Danchekker rubbed his nose with the crook of a finger. "I'm inclined to suspect that we may have done that already. What else would you call this escapade?"
The Ganymean operator gave an over-the-shoulder glance that said, How about this? Hunt leaned forward to see. The screen showed a crowd in what appeared to be some kind of city square, cheering a group of figures up on a balcony. Moments later, a switch to close-up showed the two in the center to be Harzin and Perasmon. The operator gestured to the bar across the bottom of the screen in a way that said there was no need to comment.
Hunt read the details. "Oh God!"
Eesyan came over. "What?"
"VISAR was right on. We're too close, Porthik." Hunt pointed. "It's today!"
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.