"Why? They are not going anywhere. I want to see the tourney."
"It is your watch. Oliver wants them guarded."
There was some protesting and swearing. More laughing, and footsteps going away. Then one heavyset guard came back, peered in through the bars at them, and swore. He wasn't happy; they were the reason he was missing the show. He spat on the floor of their cell, then walked a short distance away, to a wooden stool. Marek could not see him anymore, but he saw his shadow on the opposite wall.
It looked as though he was picking his teeth.
Marek walked up to the bars, trying to see into the other cells. He could not really see into the cell to the right, but directly across from them he saw a figure back against the wall, seated in the darkness.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw it was the Professor.
30:51:09
Stern sat in the private dining room of ITC. It was a small room with a single table, white tablecloth, set for four. Gordon sat opposite him, eating hungrily, scrambled eggs and bacon. Stern watched the top of Gordon's crew-cut head bob up and down as he scooped the eggs with his fork. The man ate fast.
Outside, the sun was already climbing in the sky, above the mesas to the east. Stern glanced at his watch; it was six o'clock in the morning. The ITC technicians were releasing another weather balloon from the parking lot; he remembered that Gordon had told them they did it every hour. The balloon rose quickly into the sky, then disappeared into high clouds. The men who had released it didn't bother to watch it go, but walked back to a nearby laboratory building.
"How's your French toast?" Gordon said, looking up. "Rather have something else?"
"No, it's good," Stern said. "I'm just not very hungry."
"Take some advice from an old military man," Gordon said. "Always eat at a meal. Because you never know when your next one will be."
"I'm sure that's right," Stern said. "I'm just not hungry."
Gordon shrugged and resumed eating.
A man in a starched waiter's jacket came into the room. Gordon said, "Oh, Harold. Do you have coffee ready?"
The man in the jacket said, "I do, sir. Cappuccino if you prefer."
"I'll have it black."
"Certainly, sir."
"How about you, David?" Gordon said. "Coffee?"
"Nonfat latte, if you have it," Stern said.
"Certainly, sir." Harold went away.
Stern stared out the window. He listened to Gordon eat, listened to his fork scrape across the plate. Finally, he said, "Let me see if I understand this. At the moment, they can't come back, is that right?"
"That's right."
"Because there is no landing site."
"That's right."
"Because debris blocks it."
"That's right."
"And how long until they can come back?"
Gordon sighed. He pushed away from the table. "It's going to be all right, David," he said. "Things are going to turn out fine."
"Just tell me. How long?"
"Well, let's count it off. Another three hours to clear the air in the cave. Add an hour for good measure. Four hours. Then two hours to clear the debris. Six hours. Then you have to rebuild the water shields."
"Rebuild the water shields?" Stern said.
"The three rings of water. They're absolutely essential."
"Why?"
"To minimize transcription errors."
Stern said, "And what exactly are transcription errors?"
"Errors on the rebuild. When the person is reconstructed by the machine."
"You told me there weren't any errors. That you could rebuild exactly."
"For all intents and purposes, we can, yes. As long as we're shielded."
"And if we're not shielded?"
Gordon sighed. "But we will be shielded, David." He glanced at his watch. "I wish you'd stop worrying. There's several hours more before we can fix the transit site. You're upsetting yourself needlessly."
"It's just that I keep thinking," Stern said, "that there must be something we can do. Send a message, make some kind of contact. . . ."
Gordon shook his head. "No. No message, no contact. It's just not possible. For the moment, they're entirely cut off from us. And there's not a thing we can do about it."
30:40:39
Kate Erickson flattened herself against the wall, feeling damp stone on her back. She had ducked inside one of the cells in the corridor, and now she waited, holding her breath, while the guards who had locked up Marek and Chris walked back past her. The guards were laughing, and they seemed in good humor. She heard one of them say, "Sir Oliver was sore displeased with that Hainauter, to make a fool of his lieutenant."
"And the other one was worse! He rides like a flopping rag, and yet he breaks two lances with Tête Noire!" General laughter.
"Sooth, he made a fool of Tête Noire. For that, Lord Oliver will take their heads before nightfall."
"Else I miss my guess, he will chop their heads before supper."
"No, after. The crowd will be larger." More laughter.
They moved down the corridor, their voices fading. Soon she could hardly hear them. Now there was a short silence - had they started back up the stairs? No, not yet. She heard them laughing once again. And the laughter continued. It had an odd, forced quality.
Something was wrong.
She listened intently. They were saying something about Sir Guy and Lady Claire. She couldn't really make it out. She heard ". . . much vexed by our Lady . . ." and more laughter.