It would be three or four minutes until the first one appeared and Jonnie walked toward the ops room. He didn't get in. The boy, Quong, sprinted out, going somewhere fast, and Sir Robert popped out of the door and called after him, “And tell Stormalong to bring that other recognition book too!” The boy hardly checked his pace, nodding in full run.

Beyond Sir Robert the ops room was boiling with sound and movement as people worked.

Jonnie opened his mouth to ask how it was going. But Sir Robert answered before he could speak. Sir Robert shook his head bleakly. “They're using a new kind of bomb. The guns sometimes don't explode it. And the idiots are burning deserted cities! Our drones are still running. Why would they want to burn an empty place that used to be called 'San Francisco?' The last drone shot we had of it, there were just two bears walking down the street. We're dealing wi' daft imbeciles!”

Jonnie made to go in past him and Sir Robert shook his head again. “You can't do anything more than we're doing. Have you thought what we're going to tell these emissaries?

“No idea,” said Jonnie. “Shouldn't we get Clanchief Fearghus down here?”

"Naw, naw," said Sir Robert. “No e'en a wee chonce! Edinburgh is gang up in flames!”

Jonnie felt a contraction of his heart. “Any news of Chrissie?"

“They'd a' be doon in the shelters.

Dunneldeen is giving them a' the air cover he can.”

Stormalong raced in with the book.

Sir Robert took a look at Jonnie. “Go get yersel' cleaned up. And think of something to tell these arrivals!” He shooed Jonnie off toward his room and vanished into ops. He closed the door behind him so the frantic sounds wouldn't come into the platform area.

Jonnie walked on toward his room. Just as he was about to duck into the passage the humming of the wires, which had been going on underneath the music, made itself known by stopping. There was a space of time and then a slight recoil.

The Hockner emissary was on the platform. Noseless, holding a monocle on a stick, he was dressed in shimmering robes. He had a gold-colored hamper beside him.

A bell on the screen pinged. The screen top edge lit with a purple glow all around. The Hockner picked up the hamper, looked about through his monocle and minced off the platform. The honor guard saluted and dipped pennons.

He halted well clear of the disease control fence. A messenger took the hamper from him. The Buddhist in Chinese clothes bowed.

In a supercilious tone of voice, the Hockner emissary said, in Psychlo, “I am Blan Jetso, extraordinary minister plenipotentiary of the Emperor of the Hockners, long may he reign! I am empowered to negotiate and arrange final and binding amendments to agreements or treaties in all things political or military. My person is inviolate and any molestation cancels any agreements. Any effort to hold me hostage shall be in vain for I shall not be redeemed by my government. At the threat of any torture or extortion, you are warned that I shall commit suicide instantly in ways unknown to you. I am not the carrier of any disease nor weapon. Long live the Hockner Empire! And how are you today?”

The communicator dressed as a Chinese bowed and made a brief, fast speech of welcome, very pat, told him the conference would begin in about three hours and led him off to a private apartment where he could rest or refresh himself.

Jonnie had an idea these arrivals would all be about the same, different only as to races, persons, and clothes.

He was trying to think of something to tell the emissaries. It was a bit of a shock for Sir Robert to infer that it was up to him. When that grizzled old veteran didn't have any ideas– But then he must be terribly distressed over Edinburgh. So was Jonnie.

Chapter 5

Jonnie ducked under the door beam to enter the passage to his room and a wave of dizziness hit him. So far, in trying to handle the dam, he had carried himself along on willpower and he had pushed the feeling aside. But now, with worry about Edinburgh and Chrissie, he felt he was not in very good condition to handle much of anything. He had taken quite a battering these last couple of days.

He was not prepared for what he found in the passage just outside his room. There were four people there and they were working on things he couldn't quite make out. They had low benches, they were sitting on the floor, their heads were down, and their hands were flying.

Mr. Tsung sensed his presence and bobbed up from the floor. He bowed. “Lord Jonnie, meet my wife!”

The second person, a gray-haired Chinese woman with a kindly face, bobbed up, smiled, bowed. Jonnie bowed. It made his head feel bad. The woman popped down and went right back to work.

“Meet my daughter,” said Mr. Tsung.

The third person bobbed up, bowed. The daughter was a very beautiful Chinese girl, very delicate. She wore a flower in her hair. Jonnie bowed. It made his head feel worse. The girl sat down and went frantically back to work.

“Meet my son-in-law,” said Mr. Tsung.

A good-looking Chinese bobbed up from his bench with a clatter. He bowed. He was in the blue work uniform the mechanics wore. Jonnie bowed, very slightly so the room wouldn't spin. The young man popped down and sparks again flew from his tools.

Jonnie looked at them. They were working dedicatedly and with near ferocity on whatever they were doing. Jonnie felt a pang of sorrow. If this conference failed and if they lost, what suffering would await these decent people! These and the rest of the thirty-five thousand that were all that remained of the human race. He could not face the prospect of letting them down.

He went into his room. Somebody else had used those two hours. Angus, probably, and an electrician. A rack with three viewscreens now stood against the wall beyond the foot of his bed. A button camera had been placed in the ops room for one screen and he could see the huddled groups there, faces strained as they handled microphones and drone pictures and the operations board. Another button camera was trained on the conference room to broadcast to the second screen– the conference room was empty. The third button camera was on the platform and console and served the third screen.

Even as he looked, the Tolnep emissary arrived. He was in shimmering green; even his cap was green. But he had on dirty blue boots. Huge glasses hid his eyes. He carried a sort of scepter with a large knob at the top and a green hamper on green wheels for his food and supplies. A reptilian creature although he walked upright and had a face and arms and legs. A genetic line from dinosaurs that had become miniature and sentient?

He made his speech much like the Hockner, accepted the reply with an evil smile, folded his shimmering green cloak about his steel hard body, and was led away to a private apartment.

He looked like trouble.

Jonnie was about to throw himself down on the bed when he was suddenly obstructed. Mr. Tsung had followed him in. “No, no!” said Mr. Tsung. “Bath!”

Two Chinese had followed Mr. Tsung in. They had a steaming bath sitting on a mine dolly which they pushed to an empty spot on the floor before vanishing.

“I happen to be just about exhausted,” said Jonnie in protest. “I will just wash my face-'

Mr. Tsung slid around in front of him with a mirror. “Look!” demanded Mr. Tsung.

Jonnie looked. Mud. Explosive stains. The black silk sling he had been wearing was a tatter of light tan. Silt was all through his beard and hair. He looked down and saw that somewhere he must have walked up to his waist in ooze. He looked down at his hands and he could not even tell the color of his skin. He looked like something no dog would have dragged out of the village garbage dump.