James P. Hogan Giants 5 Mission to Minerva

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damp air met them. It carried a hint of the odor of tunnels that pervades
subway stations and was slightly pungent.
In a typically Thurien touch, Eesyan and Showm did not pause at the top of the
ramp, where they would have eclipsed the two smaller Terrans squeezed in the
lock chamber behind them, but descended at once to where there was space for
all to spread out and be presented equally. Although basic information had
already been exchanged via the communications connection, it seemed that the
occasion required a few formal words. Showm gave the customary Thurien
head-bow of greeting, introduced herself, and proceeded to name the others
with her. The link back to ZORAC, via a relay connection in the shuttle, made
it available as a translator, but the distance of the Shapieron created a
turnaround delay of three to four seconds. Interacting was not as
sophisticated as the methods developed later with VISAR. The party wore
headbands carrying audio and video pickups, with information from ZORAC
delivered through clip-on ear pieces and wrist screens. Showm concluded, "We
have come from a world known as Thurien, a planet of the star that you know as
the Giants' Star."
The central figure of the group facing them wore a uniform with lots of braid
and a peculiar three-cornered hat the uniforms were noticeably more ornamented
than those that would come into use later, when the war got serious. He was of
stocky, rounded build, and light brown in countenance like the others, with a
flattened nose and narrow eyes that lent a vaguely Asiatic appearance. He held
himself upright and replied stiffly. "Gudaf Irastes, Commanding General of the
Household Forces to Crown Prince Freskel-Gar of Lambia and its dominions."
Iraste hesitated, his eyes flickering uncertainly in the direction of his
retinue. Then, evidently deciding his wasn't about to go through the list of
all of them, "Greetings on behalf of Minerva. Freskel-Gar is waiting inside to
receive you. If you will follow this way . . ."
They proceeded in through the entrance that the Lunarians had emerged from.
Hunt noticed several figures in the background following them with what looked
like movie or TV cameras. Inside, a short hallway brought them to an open
vestibule area of marbled floor, surrounded by square columns going up to
overlooking galleries. Corridors led away left, right, and ahead, between
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clusters of alcove spaces and doors. They went past the main staircase leading
up to the galleries, and behind it passed through an archway to stairs leading
down. At the bottom were sturdy double doors attended by guards. Beyond the
doors, they followed a stone-floored corridor through surroundings that seemed
severe compared to the halls above. The thought was just forming in Hunt's
mind that this seemed an odd kind of setting in which to receive the first
diplomatic delegation from an alien race of another star, when they entered a
room where a number of uniformed Lambians were working at desks and consoles.
It turned out to be an anteroom to a spacious, brightly lit area filled with
screens and communications gear. Armed Lambian soldiers were stationed along
the walls. More entered behind the party and took up stations inside the door.
Prince Freskel-Gar was waiting with members of his staff at the far end. His
expression was not that of a host about to welcome guests, but stony and hard.
But the sight that caused the arrivals to stop dead in disbelief, Thurien and
Terran alike, was the group of figures framed in a large screen facing the
floor. They were human, but not Lunarian. The leader standing at their head
leered, his teeth showing white in a huge chin behind a short black beard as
if he had been relishing this moment. ZORAC wasn't needed to translate his
words. Hunt, Danchekker, and every Ganymean present were conversant with
Jevlenese.
"Most obliging of you. My compliments go out to Calazar. I couldn't have
planned this better myself," Broghuilio said. "I'm so sorry that I could not
be there to receive you personally, but it would not have been convenient.
However, I'm sure we will not be deprived of that pleasure for very long. We
are not far away."
He looked aside and nodded to a Jevlenese wearing what looked the uniform of a
ship's captain, who signaled affirmatively to somewhere. "Fire the lasers," a
voice off-screen instructed.
* * *
Wearing shorts and a house robe, Caldwell sat on the arm of one of the chairs
in the summer room of his home outside the city in Maryland, watching as
dutifully as any grandfather would while his ten-year-old grandson, Timmy,
tongue-between-teeth, produced a commendable rendition of Mozart's Drawing
Room theme on the baby grand. It was one of those balmy summer days that were
made for forgetting that organizations like UNSA and places like Thurien
existed. Outside, Caldwell's daughter, Sharon, was with her husband, Robin, by
the pool. Maeve was in the kitchen with Elaine, the housekeeper and cook,
discussing ideas for dinner or whatever else women discussed in kitchens.
Timmy finished with a flourish and emitted the breath he had been holding in
his concentration. "Bravo!" Caldwell said, patting his palms appreciatively.
"New York next season? Or will we have to wait a little longer?"
"I know all the scales too. Pick one any one you like."
"How do I do that?" Caldwell was about as musical as a tin wash tub.
"Just pick a key then."
"Umm, okay. . . . That one." Caldwell pointed at a black one.
"That's A flat. Now say major or minor."
"Oh, with me, I guess it has to be the major."
Timmy proceeded to run up the octave and back down. It sounded right, anyway.
Robin came in through the patio door. Clinking sounds from outside told of
Sharon picking up dishes and glasses. "What's this? Showing off to grandpa, is
he?"
"Sounds pretty good to me," Caldwell said. "I still think a crotchet's some
kind of knitting."
"Are we having dinner in or going out? Have we decided yet?"
"The manager of that department is discussing it now."
Robin pulled a shirt over his shoulders and began buttoning it. "Sharon tells
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me you've got some kind of Open Day coming up at Goddard."
"Right."
"What's that all about?"
Caldwell raised his eyes. Even ten years previously, with secrecy and security
still a hangover from the days of militarization, it would have been
unthinkable. "Don't remind me. I was just enjoying my day off. It's on
Tuesday. The powers that run our world have decided that since the public pays
for most of what goes on at Goddard, the public has a right to see for itself.
So we've got lectures, lab exhibits you know, the usual kind of thing." A
phone rang somewhere in the house.
"Sounds interesting. I might try and get along. Tuesday, you said?"
"If you don't mind hordes of tourists and kids taking over the staff dining
room. It's a blessing Chris Danchekker isn't around right now."
"Gregg, it's for you." Maeve called from the next room. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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