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."