"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."