Mission to Minerva g-5

by James P. Hogan

  "Tell us about Zargon's background," Showm said. "His career, his record. Which part of Lambia is he from?"

  "Not a lot is known about that," Jissek replied. "He seemed to come out of nowhere, very suddenly."

  "When would this have been?"

  "Again, around three years ago. It was before the Champion incident, but not very long before it… Six months, maybe." Jissek hesitated, then added, "If you want my opinion, I think Zargon might not be from Lambia at all. I think he could be a Cerian."

  That came as a surprise. "Why would you think that?" Hunt asked.

  "He appeared on Freskel-Gar's staff with a group of followers who were very secretive. I don't know even today how many of them there were. But they brought new weapons technologies with them, and set up a program that involved all kinds of advanced scientific knowledge." Jissek made a gesture that asked what else could be made of it. "You see my point? It sounds as if it could have been Cerian armaments specialists from some other part of Minerva, who defected en masse. Just my theory."

  "If they were Cerians, why would Cerios need to mount an espionage operation to find out what they were doing?" Hunt asked, smiling faintly.

  Jissek had to think about it for a moment. "Maybe they were trying to get it back-if Zargon brought the whole program with him. It would explain all the secrecy, anyway." Hunt nodded that the answer was good enough.

  Showm came back in. "Getting back to King Perasmon, you said he was killed. When was this?"

  "Three years ago."

  "Around the same time, then?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Had General Zargon actually appeared on Freskel-Gar's staff by this time? Was he around when it happened?"

  "I'm… not sure."

  "So how did it happen?"

  "There was a time when many people thought the problems between us and the Cerians could be solved. I'm not sure of the details… Something about the differences between us not being so important after all. I don't think anyone wanted the war. In those days such things were difficult to imagine-the kind of thing you saw in horror movies. So there were hopes everywhere that it could be avoided. The Cerian president-his name was Harzin-came to Melthis to meet the king personally…" Melthis was the Lambian capital city.

  "Perasmon?"

  "Yes. And they made a big speech together saying they had come to an understanding, and from then on all of Minerva would work together. They would keep their system and we could stay with ours. It seemed like a nightmare that had ended." Jissek paused, poured a glass of water from a jug on the table, and took a sip.

  "And?" Showm said.

  "Afterward they were supposed to fly from Melthis to Cerios for Perasmon to visit there. But their plane was shot down."

  Showm had to cover her eyes for a moment, even though she had been hearing a lot of this kind of thing by now. "Who did this?" she asked.

  "Cerians. A rogue unit within their military establishment. You see, it was this obsession of theirs with self-seeking and private interests again-instead of thinking of common goals. The state of armed tension gave them a lot of power. They weren't prepared to give it up."

  "And after that?" Hunt queried, although it wasn't difficult to guess.

  "Oh, there could be no more compromising after that. Freskel-Gar became king. He turned out to be the strong leader that we needed, who wasn't deceived the way Perasmon had been. The Cerians had been arming all along. It was probably Zargon who saved us. Without the defenses he's built up over the last three years, it's practically certain that Lambia would have been invaded by now."

  ***

  The pieces fitted. Broghuilio and his Jevlenese had arrived when Cerios and Lambia were on the verge of settling differences that had been building up over many years, but which as yet had resulted in no more than skirmishes. But the two leaders who had brought about the reconciliation were assassinated before it had taken any effect. The Cerians had a different version that put the blame on a Lambian plot engineered by Freskel-Gar. The timing invited the suspicion that Broghuilio might have been involved too, but that couldn't be concluded for sure. Whatever the true explanation, Freskel-Gar, the hardliner waiting in the wings, had seized his opportunity, and with Broghuilio either already on the scene or appearing soon afterward, the road toward intransigence, escalation, and eventual all-out war was set. At some point that still lay in the future, Freskel-Gar would reap as he had sown, when Broghuilio-Zargon judged the time right to get rid of him.

  This information at last provided a clear pointer to where in time the mission should be aimed. Around three years previously, Minerva had been ready to take a completely different course. The markers to look for were that Freskel-Gar was still a prince in Lambia, and Perasmon and Harzin were still alive. But it also needed to be before the Jevlenese arrived, to enable Harzin and Perasmon to make suitable preparations for dealing with them. But precisely when the Jevlenese had arrived was not known, and further questioning was unlikely to establish it, since the installation of Broghuilio and his entourage had been carried out in secrecy. The secrecy surrounding their presence and origins also meant that simply failing to find any sign of their ships couldn't be taken as indicative of anything-there was no sign of them now, but the Jevlenese were surely here.

  The final marker to look for would be the absence of a response from the Shapieron's daughter probe that had followed the Jevlenese ships through the spacetime tunnel. ZORAC had signaled it on every reconnaissance visit and found it functioning, and it was there now, functioning normally, on this visit. When they reached a point upstream in time where no response could be evoked, it would mean that the probe wasn't there yet, and so the Jevlenese couldn't have arrived yet either.

  Chien thought that the optimum psychological moment for the Shapieron to make its arrival would be as close as possible to the joint announcement of the new understanding by Perasmon and Harzin from the Lambian capital, Melthis, when the whole of Minerva would be optimistic and hopeful. Showm agreed, and the proposal was drawn up for Calazar to approve formally.

  ***

  There was still the other side of the bargain to be fulfilled. After some clothes had been found for him from the Terran stores, Jissek was taken to the Shapieron's Command Deck to meet the other members of the mission. There, as he had promised, Hunt explained as fully as was pertinent the strange story of where the ship was from and why it had come back to Minerva. After the events since his rescue, however, it seemed that Jissek was capable of believing just about anything, and he accepted the account phlegmatically, though not pretending to comprehend all of it. The ship's doctor then called to break the news that Jissek's companion, Thorke, had died as feared.

  Frenua Showm looked at the young officer with obvious concern and compassion. "Before very much longer, your world will end horribly and violently. We know that. It cannot be changed. But for you, it doesn't have to be that way. You can come back with us, to a world of peace and wonders that you are unable to imagine, with the rest of a life to look forward to, and a future."

  Jissek stared back at a screen where one of the views of Thurien that they had shown him was still displaying. Smiling distantly in a resigned way, he told about his wife, their new son, and the parents who worried about him. "If such things are to pass, they will need me there all the more," he replied. "I thank you, but that is where I must be."

  Hunt and Showm went with him in the transit tube to the stern docking bay where the probe was waiting. It would take him to a cove along the coast, near to a Lambian naval base. Jissek waved a farewell from inside as the doors closed. A minute later, they watched on a docking bay monitor as the probe exited from the ship and shrank away into the starfield. Frenua Showm's face was making strange twitching movements. It was the first time, Hunt realized, that he had seen a Ganymean cry.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Laisha felt upbeat and lighthearted, with hopes for the future that she hadn't known for years. It was as if a growing burden
inside that she had ceased being aware of was suddenly lifted. And on top of that, there was the sense of gratification and accomplishment that came with the thought that she had played a part, even if a minor one, in bringing it about.

  President Harzin had been in Melthis for two days. The interim bulletins released to the world's news services were encouraging, and it had just been announced that they would be making a joint statement to the peoples of both Cerios and Lambia at noon that day, before Harzin's scheduled departure. The gossip around the offices in the Agracon, the complex of government buildings in the center of Melthis being used by the delegation Laisha was attached to, was that it would be the accord that all had been awaiting. It had also been noted that King Perasmon's calendar showed no fixtures for the few days immediately ahead, which perhaps indicated a surprise program to be unveiled at the same time. Laisha sat at her desk in the translators' room, tidying up her notes and records. There was little work going on that morning. She conjured up pictures in her mind of Minervans working together, and the fleet of ships taking shape that would one day carry them to Earth.

  Uthelia stuck her head in through the doorway from the press office. "Hey, Laisha Engs. You've got a phone call."

  "Me? Who from?"

  "Well, I don't know. You'd better come and find out. Try to make it quick, though. We need all the lines we can get this morning."

  Laisha got up and went through to the clutter of paper-strewn desks and beeping phones where the Cerian journalists and reporters worked. The Lambians had supplied lines to their offices back home. Uthelia gestured toward a handset off its cradle on a table stacked with files in a corner. Laisha picked it up. "Yes? This is Laisha Engs speaking."

  "Hey, how proper and formal! Very professional. I'm impressed."

  "What?… Kles, is that you?"

  "Ha-ha! Surprised? Happy Birthday."

  "But it's not my birthday."

  "So? Birthdays are supposed to have surprises. Where's the surprise in being told Happy Birthday when it is your birthday and you're expecting it?"

  "Oh, Kles, you're so daft. So where are you?"

  "Still on base. We've got a class going on here, to do with communications and codes and stuff. It made me think of Wus Wosi, that guy I knew at college. You remember him?"

  "The ball player?"

  "That's him. Well, I remembered he's working with the NEBA news bureau in Osserbruk now. I figured they must have some way of talking to you guys over there in Lambia, so I called him on a special cleared channel that we have here. And guess what. Here I am!"

  Laisha shook her head despairingly but smiled. "You're crazy. But it's great to hear you voice. Especially today, after all the work we've been putting in. It tops off the good news."

  "Let's hope it is good news, anyway. But I have to make it short."

  "I know. Me, too. But I'm glad you thought of me."

  "I do all the time. You know that."

  "And me."

  "Well, take care with that Lambian brandy. I have to go. Maybe we'll see you back soon."

  "I hope so. Goodbye, Kles."

  "And… well, you know. There's guys around."

  "I know. Me, too."

  Laisha replaced the phone and turned to go back. Uthelia was watching her. Her face had a pinched look, as if she were mildly resentful. Perhaps she just begrudged anyone's using the office's time. Whatever, it was her problem, Laisha decided as she walked back through to the translators' room.

  ***

  Now back in his flagship aground on the lunar far side, Imares Broghuilio paced restlessly across the floor of the bridge deck. Estordu and a group of aides were standing behind a signals operator's console, watching a picture being picked up on one of the Lambian news channels. It showed King Perasmon and President Harzin addressing a crowd from the center of a group of figures out on a balcony at the front of the Agracon. Another screen showed Freskel-Gar, his adjutant, and Broghuilio's general Wylott at the fortress-palace of Dorjon, twenty miles from Melthis. Freskel-Gar was conferring with two officers updating him on the state of the preparations.

  Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Freskel-Gar had been dissatisfied with Perasmon's rule and laying plans for a coup to seize power himself for some time. However, an opportunity had just presented itself to get rid of Perasmon and take over as the legal successor, which happened to coincide with Broghuilio's arrival. At the same time, it promised to bring about just the kind of irreconcilable split between Lambia and Cerios that Freskel-Gar needed. Perhaps feeling that he needed to impress Broghuilio and gain his confidence if he was going to be given Jevlenese weaponry, Freskel-Gar had been surprisingly generous in sharing details of the situation and his plans.

  From his own intelligence sources, Freskel-Gar had divined that following their address to the people, Perasmon would be returning with Harzin, the Cerian president, to make a symbolic reciprocal visit to his guest's home country. In a hastily devised operation designated Hat Rack, a missile would be launched from a flight of three Lambian interceptors flying at high altitude when Harzin's presidential plane was over the far side of the ocean. Waiting until it was closer to Cerios would make a cover story implicating a rogue faction of Cerians more credible. Planting an on-board bomb would not have looked good on a Cerian plane that had taken off from Lambia, inviting accusations of failed security if nothing else.

  Although Freskel-Gar would succeed automatically when news came of Perasmon's demise, there was always the chance of some kind of opposition emerging and impeding a rapid establishing of control. in some form. He was mobilizing his forces accordingly as a precaution. The units assigned to securing key points and installations were ready to move; Freskel-Gar's own picked troops were heavily represented in the roster of duties around the Agracon; and prominent legal and political figures ready to endorse the legitimacy of the succession were standing by. If necessary, the moves to secure his position and place the right people in office would be carried out under the justification of emergency provisos following the assassinations.

  Wylott and his advance contingent of Jevlenese had been installed at Dorjon, but they would not be taking an active role in the events planned for that day. The Jevlenese would be integrated into the national scene gradually and invisibly, avoiding the risk of a public reaction that could unite Minerva in opposition. Wylott's part would be to prepare the way for bringing the rest of the Jevlenese down from the Moon. That night, while Minerva was still in confusion, the five ships secreted on Farside would slip in to deliver their occupants to a transit site being prepared in a remote part of Lambia. The ships would be stripped of as much as would be useful, and then sunk in the ocean. It was regrettable, but once their power was exhausted they would become more of a liability than anything, while having to account for them in the event that their existence was discovered would create impossible difficulties.

  "Excellent," Freskel-Gar said. While he dismissed the two officers, Wylott came back to look out from the screen. Broghuilio looked back at him inquiringly. "Reception parties to meet the ships tonight are being organized," Wylott informed him. "Temporary accommodation is being made ready, along with supplies of clothing and provisions."

  "Good." Broghuilio nodded.

  Freskel-Gar joined Wylott. "Will we need to do something about recovering scuttling crews after the ships are sunk?" he asked.

  "That won't be necessary," Broghuilio replied. The ships would simply be sent down into one of the deep trenches on automatic control, and opened to the ocean.

  A muted roar from the crowd sounded at the screen Estordu and the others were watching. Broghilio told the operator to turn up the volume. The two leaders had declared a truce between them as had been widely anticipated. Then, while the noise was still abating, they went on to announce Harzin's invitation to Perasmon to visit Cerios, and their imminent journey together-precisely as Freskel-Gar had predicted. Broghuilio had already marked Freskel-Gar as shrewd, calculating, able to wait until
his time was right, but at the same time possessing the nerve to move swiftly and surely when he saw his opportunity. An invaluable resource to have around for securing their position in the period immediately ahead, Broghuilio had decided. And in the longer term, dangerous.

  At that moment the bridge-deck computer interrupted with an announcement. "Attention. We have an anomalous surveillance alert."

  "Report to Station 5." A crew officer brought screens and indicators to life.

  Broghuilio moved across, frowning. "What kind of alert? What's happening?"

  The officer studied the displays. "Something strange, Excellency. Intermediate C-band has picked up an unidentified object. It seems to have just suddenly… appeared, about a million miles out."

  "Object? What kind of object?"

  The officer took in more data. "It's not one object. It's two. There's another one a few hundred miles away from it."

  Freskel-Gar was watching the activity from the screen connected to Dorjon. "What's happening up there?" he demanded.

  "We're not sure," Broghuilio told him.

  They were still debating the anomaly, when the computer came again: "A larger disturbance is building up, registering seventeen-six in beta octave."

  The officer reported, "About a thousand miles from the away from the first. This one is much larger. It's transmitting some kind of signal in h-mode."

  For several seconds, Broghuilio just stared. It didn't make any sense. "That's impossible," he declared.

  Nothing had existed in the age of Lunarian Minerva that could produce h-radiation.

  ***

  "Homing beacon is locked on and checking positive. Backup beacon is functioning. You're set to go. Good luck, Shapieron. Sequencing out… Transferring."