"I… didn't know," was all Kles could think of to say.
The OC regarded him expectantly for a few seconds. "You might be wondering how that could be known so soon, and how we can say already that your warning was genuine," he said. Kles was too confused just at that instant to have said with certainty what day it was. "The confirmation came via an agency of an astonishing nature that has only just revealed itself-as far as I can make of it at the moment, anyway. I'm still not sure I believe it myself. But we have someone here who can apparently explain it better." The OC nodded to somebody on the desk display facing him, said, "He's here now," and pivoted the unit around for Kles to see the screen. It showed an office or some kind of working environment, with figures in the background. A couple of them were wearing what appeared to be Lambian uniforms. Kles looked back at the OC questioningly. And then a somebody moved into the viewing angle, leaned forward to adjust a control, and then her face broke out in a smile of delight as she recognized him. It was Laisha.
"Kles! I don't know where to begin. You know you saved the president and King Perasmon, don't you? It was part of something bigger that involved a revolution here. But there's even a lot more to it than that. I don't understand most of it myself yet. But I've got a couple of people here who were very concerned about it all, and you've saved some kind of complicated plan that they've been involved in too. They want to say thanks to you personally. Will you talk to them?"
"Well… sure…" Kles's mind was turning too many somersaults to take it all in. Laisha was biting her lip, as if to stop something exciting from bursting out.
"Here they are. There might be a problem with language because their computer that normally translates has got problems, but I'll do my best. Er, get ready. This might be a bit of a surprise…" Laisha looked away. "This is Kles."
Kles's jaw dropped, and his eyes bulged as the two Giants moved into view on the screen…
The room could have been intended for meetings or informal conferences. It had a couple of massively solid tables surrounded by upright chairs, along with an assortment of couches and more commodious seating around the sides. Two large bay windows with heavy, braided drapes looked out over what appeared to be the front area of the building. The walls were decorated in somber, subdued patterns giving way at intervals to alcoves containing vases and ornaments, and pictures of important-looking Minervans. A bit old and staid by contemporary Terran standards, Hunt supposed, and the carpet had seen better days; but it was a big improvement on the place they had been held in previously, down in the basement.
Following Freskel-Gar's surrender, forces loyal to Perasmon had taken over the Agracon and removed the prince and his would-be revolutionaries to oblivion or whatever retribution would be decided. Wylott and a handful of Jevlenese who, for whatever reason, had been left behind at another location outside the city were also being rounded up. Thankfully, none of that was Hunt's concern. He had been joined here not only by his own companions but also by the Cerian girl that he had met briefly, along with the remainder of the Cerian delegation that she belonged to, who had been similarly detained. Apparently, there were more Cerians in another building somewhere.
The Lambians had provided food and drink and were trying to make everyone comfortable. An officer that Hunt took to be on the commanding staff of the force now in control had explained that they were awaiting the return of the two national leaders, who wanted to meet them all personally. Meanwhile, three Lambians had been left sitting near the door, by a table where an urn containing a hot beverage of some kind had been placed. They were there to take care of anything more that might be wanted, not as guards. The room's strange mix of occupants gathered that they were definitely to consider themselves no longer captives, but guests.
Most amazing of all to the Minervans, of course, was the presence of the Giants. Although the full story would have to be recounted for Perasmon and Harzin, the Lambians who had been coming and going to check for anything that might be required or on other pretexts were unable to contain their curiosity. In return for the snippets they managed to pick up, they provided as much news from outside as was available at the present time.
Nobody knew if any message from ZORAC had played a part in causing the Cerians to divert the flight. One of the Cerian delegates, however, had recognized the danger as soon as Freskel-Gar's soldiers began taking over inside the Agracon, but he had been apprehended before he could get a warning out. However, another person whom he had told had managed to send a message to her soldier boyfriend-of all people-and checking with the Cerians had confirmed that their Presidential Office had indeed acted in response to information received via the Cerian military. She was none other than the translator that Hunt had met downstairs. Her name was Laisha. She and her boyfriend, as far as anyone could tell, had done as much to bring about the day's outcome as anyone.
Frenua Showm seemed the most moved by Laisha's story. Laisha had responded that there was something the Giants could do if they really felt they were in her debt. If the Lambians could get a connection to the boyfriend in Cerios who had alerted the Cerian authorities, would they let her introduce them to him? Hunt hadn't been able to piece together through all the clumsy language and improvised translation exactly why it was so important, but in characteristic Thurien fashion, Showm and Eesyan had gone away with Laisha and a couple of Lambians to see what could be done.
The Shapieron was moving closer in to Minerva, and the latest over the link to the shuttle, still standing outside the back of the building, was that a party headed by Shilohin was on its way down in the lander, flying under manual control. For Hunt, the news about ZORAC was like losing a personal friend. The few computer specialists who had come with the mission said they would try, but the chances of restoring it appeared next-to nonexistent. Even something like VISAR would have had little to work on with code that had been essentially randomized. It seemed that something of the same nature had incapacitated the missing probe, which had been out there all the time, engaged in some lengthy self-repair operation that its simpler structure and less severe condition had at least made possible.
Apart from those considerations, the main concern was the prospect of having to remain here. If they had indeed created a new reality, the irony now was that they seemed destined to live as a part of it. The knowledge hung heavily in the background of Hunt's mind like the funereal Lambian window drapes but he didn't feel up to dealing with it yet. It wasn't as if he were pressed for time, he told himself wryly.
With most of the more immediate questions at least partly answered, the company had broken up into talking in low voices with its own kind-Cerian and Cerian; Ganymean and Ganymean; Thurien and Thurien. Maybe it was because struggling to understand and make oneself understood was fatiguing. In Hunt's case, it meant he was limited to Danchekker, who just at that moment was polishing his spectacles. It was usually a prelude to speaking when he had been reflecting on something.
"It occurs to me, Vic, what an extraordinary book cousin Mildred would have been able to produce if she had returned for the mission. It would have had much more going for it than all those statistics and sociological observations, I would have thought… But then again, she wouldn't have had access to her market for it, I suppose. Unfortunate in many ways. You know, I would never have believed I'd ever hear myself saying this on the day you talked me into this antic, but I rather think I'm going to miss her."