The white phone beeped on the desk of Vazquin, the head of the translation section. That was the Agracon's internal system, not connected to the outside. Vazquin was away from his desk at the moment. Laisha turned in her chair and took it. "Cerian translators. Laisha Engs speaking."

"This is Farissio. I'm in the communications room in the main building. We need a translator here. Can you get over immediately?" Farissio was a senior negotiator with the Cerian delegation. He sounded strained.

"Well, yes, of course. What-"

"Just do it, please." Another voice in the background, clipped and harsh, said something that Laisha didn't catch. Farrissio hung up. Mystified, Laisha threw a pen and notebook into the bag that she carried for office chores. The translators' offices were located in one of the peripheral buildings at the rear of the Agracon complex, outside the secure zone that included the main building. To get to the communications room she would need to check in at the guard desk and get a Lambian escort. She made sure that she had her ID and clearance papers, and hurried for the door, followed by one or two curious looks.

Downstairs, Laisha exited through a side door that she had learned led to a short cut, and followed a narrow alleyway along the rear of the VIP transportation garage to a path leading to one of the access roads. Something about the atmosphere of the whole place had changed. Although there was no outward noise or fuss, Lambian soldiers were everywhere, moving swiftly and purposefully. Sudden misgivings seized her that something had gone terribly wrong.

Another alley brought her to a side door of the restaurant and staff cafeteria. Cutting through to the main entrance would bring her out opposite one of the guard posts into the secure zone. She had just entered the building and was following the corridor past the kitchens toward the dining areas, when Mera Dukrees, one of the delegation's technical specialists, came hurrying toward her, apparently taking the same route in the opposite direction. He looked distraught, casting anxious glances back.

"What is it?" Laisha asked.

"I'm not sure. There's some sort of takeover going on. Soldiers herding people around. They've got the whole place sealed off in there."

"How did you get out?"

"An argument broke out at the gate just as I got there. I slipped through. I think it might be a move to overthrow Perasmon." Raised voices and shouts of protest sounded inside the building from the direction of the dining areas. Dukrees gripped Laisha's arm to keep her attention. "But don't you see what it means? If that's what's happening, this is only a part of it. That plane isn't going to get there!"

Laisha shook her head and brought a hand up to her mouth. "Oh no!"

"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.