Ramesh had been deeply disturbed by what he'd channeled, though as always he remembered none of it. Afterward he sat at his piano and played somber music, until Burhan initiated a shallow trance-the attendant called them "healing reveries"-and put him to bed.
Then Burhan went to the prime minister's apartment, where the two leaders sat waiting.
"How," Peixoto asked, "could Annika have translated like that?"
"Sir, how do savants do any of what they do? We only know what, not how. But Annika was present at all the language lessons. She heard everything any of the others heard. And it all registered, perfectly and permanently. Somewhere in her mind it all registered.
"And how did she communicate to us over all those months? Instantly, in real time, from how many light years away? She simply did it, in the same way little Esko Rautasjaure can look at a star chart and tell you the travel time to anyplace you'd care to go. Or not go, including a supernova in Andromeda."
Listening, Chang marveled at this young man-no savant and with only an ordinary education. But his intelligence was obvious, and his humanity beautiful. The president was glad to belong to the same species.
Then Burhan Gokhale said something else. "Sirs, Charley Gordon may have useful comments on the courtroom material."
A savant in trance cannot ask or answer questions. He can only channel. Thus Charley heard the cube of Annika's courtroom account via Ramesh, through Admiral Soong's new savant. When it was over, the prime minister added: "We cannot expect anything further from Annika, and we very much want some idea of what to expect. Can you help us?"
"Sir," Charley said, "this brings two vectors to mind. I'd felt them both, but they were too vague to articulate. This clarifies them. I feel quite confident of them now. The Wyzhnyny armada will postpone further colonization, and advance much more rapidly. Expect them among the Core Worlds in weeks instead of months, to destroy cities, industries, the entire infrastructure. And our fleet if they can pin it down. They particularly want to raze Terra. After that they will have all the time they need to root out the colonies. Decades. Centuries if necessary.
"Also, the Wyzhnyny envoy will arrive at the Sol System somewhat sooner than the armada. He will have no diversions, and only astrogational stops. The Admiralty can approximate his arrival time for you, from his departure time from Shakti. Obviously his diplomatic accreditation is no longer in force, but he will have valuable knowledge.
"As for Annika and Yukiko-I agree, they are dead. The Wyzhnyny commander wanted help in finding Terra, and Yukiko could not or would not help him."
It was the president who asked the final question: "Is there, then, any hope at all?"
"Oh yes, Mr. President, there is hope. But there is not much time."
When they'd finished, Peixoto gave himself a moment to recover, then looked at the president. "Whew! When I asked what to expect, I didn't imagine such detail. Now we have less time than ever." Keying his desk comm, he had his secretary call War House.
Chapter 61
An Envoy Received
David MacDonald listened to shipsvoice count down to emergence. He remembered Maritimus, and the armada's 16,000 blips, and couldn't imagine the Commonwealth producing a viable defense. Yet twice there'd been battles, and the last one had shaken up not only the flagship, but Qonits as well.
And apparently the admiral. Otherwise why send an envoy to Terra? And on the sneak, as if Quanshuk couldn't rely on his officers. If that was true, how could negotiations possibly succeed?
They emerged into deep, star-glittered blackness, one star far brighter than any other, uncomfortable to more than glance at. It had to be Sol; they'd emerged just half a day earlier to orient themselves for this jump.
Shipsvoice spoke while words scuttled across the navscreen, all unintelligible to him. "We are within a million miles of a pod beacon," Qonits said. "A useful locational reference, and a good omen."
Good omen, David echoed mentally. Wishful thinking.
Qonits poised a hand above a rocker switch and looked questioningly at him. "Try it," David said. The Wyzhnyny touched it. A HUD marked with three symbols-perhaps a Wyzhnyny acronym-appeared on the "window." Looking at David, Qonits gestured at the mike. "Speak," he said softly.
David licked his lips. "War House, War House, War House." The words felt strange to him. At one time they'd been a mockery. It was said that in Proto-Terran-essentially Old Anglic-the words had meant a brothel. War House had long been regarded as a perverse waste of time, a place where grown men spent years in a universe of make believe. How that viewpoint must have changed!
"This is David MacDonald. David MacDonald. Research leader of the Maritimus Project. I am on an alien long-range scout in the vicinity of a pod beacon. On an alien long-range scout in the vicinity of a pod beacon.
"I've been a prisoner on the invaders' flagship for more than a year. I have come here with Lord Qonits of the Wyzhnyny Empire. Lord Qonits of the Wyzhnyny Empire. I am his guide and aide. Lord Qonits is the envoy of Grand Admiral Quanshuk, of the Wyzhnyny armada. The grand admiral has sent him to discuss possible peace terms. Repeat: peace terms." He paused. "We will remain where we are, and await an escort. Repeat: We will remain where we are and await an escort."
He switched off the mike. It would take about six hours for the message to reach Terra, and the government would take-How long? A day? An hour? A minute?-to decide what to make of this, and respond. Or perhaps decide that someone was hoaxing them. Six hours after that would bring the reply. Unless a courier was sent via warpspace, or some system patrol craft intercepted his message and responded sooner.
He turned to Qonits. "Now we wait," he said.
Qonits nodded. They were used to waiting. They'd done long weeks of it. Long but not idle weeks. Most of their waking hours had been spent in the expansion and refinement of Qonits' Terran, until it seemed to David the chief scholar spoke it better than he did. Qonits had remarkable recall, and approximated human phonemes about as well as a Wyzhnyny ever could, without electronic enhancement. Meanwhile their busyness minimized David's fretting about Yukiko, and Qonits' about what might have happened to Quanshuk when he'd announced what he'd done.
Now, while waiting for an escort, Qonits explained the seven Wyzhnyny genders, which clarified a lot for the Terran. And David elaborated on Terran and Commonwealth history. After a bit they napped. David's dreams were strange but not troubling. Qonits's were troubling enough for both of them.
The long-range scout remained parked for ten hours, then its two occupants were picked up by a courier. On the trip insystem, both passengers, secured in their seats, slept again as if they'd been sleep deprived. The copilot wakened them when he emerged from warpspace above Kunming. Near enough that Qonits could appreciate the city's layout, but high enough to give it context. Looking southeast across 400 miles of grasslands and forests, they could see the Gulf of Tonkin. Northwestward, the view was dominated by the deep rugged gorges and towering snow-topped ridges and peaks of the Yun Ling Shan. To the east, spreading to the horizon, lay tawny farmland with intermittent woodlands.
To David MacDonald it was unbelieveably beautiful. He wished Yukiko were there to see it with him. For Qonits the view was interesting and aesthetic, and for the moment he forgot his mission-its responsibilities and dubious prospects.
The radio snatched their attention. Internal Security had further instructions for the pilot. They didn't want Qonits seen by the public. Not yet. His presence would no doubt leak, but let it seem only an unlikely rumor.