He stood up, stretched, bent and touched his feet. And told himself he should try exercising to exhaustion; maybe that would help him sleep. But somehow … He sat back down.
He recognized now one of the things that bothered him. Besides captivity of course. Ever since he’d left the ting ground with Hans— No, ever since the Phaeacia had left for New Home, and he’d realized how isolated he really was, living with the Salmon Clan—ever since then he d been comforted by the concealed pistol he’d carried in the holster pocket of his jumpsuit. His ace in the hole, his security.
Now it was gone.
Interesting, he told himself: I miss it, but somehow I don’t feel as insecure as I used to with it, say a year and a half ago.
He touched his left side pocket and felt the palm-sized radio there. The emperor hadn’t been overimpressed. He took it out, all ninety grams of it. He’d carried it for— how many kilometers? Nine thousand? Ten? Carried a
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radio that didn’t work. Why? Certainly not for any comfort it gave him. Every time he remembered it, it reminded him of how cut off he was. More than once he’d thought about throwing it away. But how many spare radios were there aboard the Alpha? One or two? None? And if he did get back to the Northmen someday, Matt and Nikko would get word of it and come to debrief him on what had happened. Then Matt could fix it or replace the faulty power tap, or whatever.
Absently, Baver slid the power switch.
And the power light flashed on, a bright red spot in the dimness of his cell! He stared, the breath stopped in his throat. After a long several seconds, he moved the instrument close to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. A green light came on. It took an effort to control his excitement ana speak quietly.
“Alpha,” he murmured, “this is Ted. Alpha, this is Ted. Over.”
The answer came from more than 108 degrees of longitude west of him, in the not-quite-human voice of the Alpha’s computer. “This is pinnace Alpha. I am currently located on the Terran surface at coordinate XE: 09.585267, Yn: 56.471394.” As it had begun to speak, Baver had thumbed the volume down so it was loud enough to hear, but no louder. The pinnace continued. “In local terms, I am in a sheep pasture 165 meters distant, at 151 degrees azimuth, from the main gate of the castle of J0rgen the First, Karlssen, Stennaeve, King of the Danes. The date is 2834, August 26, Earth Reckoning. The hour, local time, is 14:23:41.”
To Baver there was a poignant homely beauty in the computer’s voice, its sweet, ordinary, prosaic message, its textbook-proper speech. He melted hearing it.
“My primary security system is activated. Nikko Ku-malo is inside the castle, interviewing Anders Henrikssen, Raadgiver, principle advisor to King J0rgen. Matthew Kumalo is with her, as her bodyguard. They have been away since hour 13:48:17, this date, and their sole open connection with myself is an input-only line, to record
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the interview. They predicted their return as before hour 20:00.
“If you have a message, you may state it at whatever length you please. Over.”
Baver moved the switch to the pause position; for the moment he had no idea what to say. He could override the input-only instruction by declaring an emergency-two, but—what could they do right away, that would make a difference?
Was the emperor listening to his thoughts? Or perhaps some other telepath assigned by him? He’d simply have to hope not. He’d start by giving his situation, then his location, and go on from there until he was done or someone had intervened.
“This is Ted Baver,” he murmured to his radio. “I’m in a prison cell in China, in the capital. Beijing isn’t the capital anymore; I’ve passed through what I think was Beijing. There are some big old buildings still standing, but most of it’s farm’s and a big army camp. The new capital is in a valley, in a range of forested hills. It’s a long day’s horseback ride from there, north or maybe northeast; call it a day and a half. . . .”