"Mr. President!" the prime minister said. "Something has come up which urgently requires our joint attention."

Chang Lung-Chi raised his eyebrows. "Well then," he said, without asking what. It seemed to him he could guess.

Foster Peixoto had already turned, starting down the corridor to his own wing, which was larger than the president's. It was not a matter of rank or prestige. The prime minister was head of government, which in the Commonwealth meant its director of planning and operations. He required a larger staff. The president was head of state: its spokesman, setter of directions and goals, co-setter of policies and priorities.

Physically they were not at all alike. Peixoto had lived the first fourteen years of his life on Luna. Not surprisingly he was nearly seven feet tall, though weighing less than the president. And their differences went beyond body type, yet they'd been friends at first meeting, and close friends almost as quickly. They even complemented one another. Peixoto was an analytical thinker who dealt well with details. The president was intuitive. His mind cut quickly to the core of a problem.

Peixoto's office was spare, and strictly utilitarian. The few art pieces had been supplied by the General Services Administration. Folding his long body onto his desk chair, he rested his hand by his key pad. The president, a frequent visitor, seated himself.

"The alien armada has attacked another world," Peixoto said. "This time the Gem of the Prophet. My communicator learned of it only minutes ago. You'd already left the airport, so I decided to wait." He tapped a short sequence of keys. A picture lit a wall screen, of a youth, a savant lying in trance. President Chang knew the young man, whose talents went far beyond his musical virtuosity. He lay in a penthouse apartment overhead, but his words originated on a world so distant, its sun was not visible to the naked eye.

The savant spoke in Terran, in the first person. After identifying the system, he began the message. "Two hours ago," he said, "bombardment craft, parked out of sight overhead, began to destroy our towns. They ignored our attempts to communicate. Now not a town remains standing. After you forwarded the report of Morgan the pirate, this unit was ordered to the Mountain of the Poet, where the invaders have not yet found us."

So, Peixoto thought, the aliens, the intrusion, are real. This leaves no doubt.

The words continued. "They have landed ground forces at numerous locations. Video signals show their soldiers as having six limbs, and like the mythical centaur, they walk on four of them. The other two, the arms, are on an upright torso that rises from the withers. The head looks reptilian, despite fur and external ears, and the tail is like that of an ass. They wear no clothing, only a harness to which their gear is attached. They run briskly, and even ignoring the upright torso, their body appears larger than the largest dog.

"They attack fiercely, and have rejected, or failed to understand, offers of surrender. They simply kill, the unarmed as well as the armed."

There was a long pause. "They have detected us. Our…" Briefly the savant shifted on the couch, then lay quiet. His attendant moved into camera view. "Ramesh has lost contact," he said. "We will continue to record further communication, if there is any."

Peixoto touched a key and the screen went blank. Chang's head had bowed as they'd listened. Now it raised. "Faith has gotten itself tangled in the thorn hedge again," he said. The Faith Party was small but sometimes pivotal. When the report from Tagus had been released, Faith had been vocally upset with it. Their pacifism had been threatened, and they'd denied vehemently that there was such an armada. It was impossible, a pirate ruse.

They'd have a hard time calling this report a pirate ruse. And Faith depended on the perception that their positions and statements came to them from the deity. "Faith will lose more than face," Chang went on. "To the eight hundred million Muslims on Terra, traditional and reformed, the Gem of the Prophet has been the crown jewel of their colonies. Now Salam will disassociate itself from Faith." His gaze sought Peixoto's. "This will help you get a war powers act through."

Peixoto nodded absently; a thought had taken his attention. "We must somehow establish communication with these… centaurs. Negotiate with them."

The comment took the president by surprise. "Of course," he said. "But meanwhile we'll promote a war powers proposal to parliament. Rearming will require immense focus, unswerving determination-and discipline." Chang paused, peering carefully at his friend. "Do you actually suppose these creatures might negotiate?"

Peixoto shook his head reluctantly. "I hope, but I do not expect. We must try."

The president nodded. "I agree, my friend, we must try." He frowned, then gestured at the wall screen. "Call up a space chart. Centered on the azimuth of Gem."

Peixoto's forehead furrowed, and he tapped keys. A three-dimensional star chart appeared on the screen, with a thin green line that extended from Terra through the Gem of the Prophet. "Now show me where Tagus is," the president said.

Peixoto's lips framed a silent "oh" of realization, and he tapped keys again. The primary of the Tagus System showed a pulsing red. It was not far off the azimuth that ran through Gem.

"Now show the Gem-Tagus bearing, enlarged."

Peixoto's fingers busied. The image jumped, showing a line from Tagus to Gem. Several labeled systems lay near it; one had a colony. A touch of the arrow gave its name: the Star of Hibernia.

"Does our embassy there have a communicator office?"

All colonial embassies were authorized one, but there were more embassies than there were suitable savants. Once more Peixoto's fingers tapped, and names appeared. "Yes," he said.

"Contact them, right now. We must know."

"Of course, Mr. President." Peixoto phoned his communicator's apartment, and gave quick instructions. Then they waited. It took a few minutes; Ramesh had gone to the roof garden with his attendant, to enjoy the flowers. It was something he did daily at about this time. Like most idiot savants, he was happier, and healthier, when his workday was organized around things pleasant and predictable. Meanwhile the prime minister and the president waited without a word, Peixoto wondering how he and his staff had managed to overlook the Star of Hibernia. Finally Ramesh was back on his couch. Peixoto told the attendant what he wanted, and the attendant instructed the savant.

Chang was not surprised when the embassy on Star did not respond. "Burhan, is there any possiblity that their communicator is engaged in something that prevents his answering?"

"None that I'm aware of, Your Excellency," the attendant said. "There should be at least an autonomic response, even if asleep, or deeply engaged in something."

"Ask Ramesh if he gets any sense of how things are on Star."

Burhan passed the question to his ward while the two executives watched the screen. The tranced savant did not reply.

"As you see," the attendant said, "he says nothing. But I can sense his distress. Something bad has happened there."

Peixoto nodded. "Thank you, Burhan. And if it seems appropriate to you, thank Ramesh for me. For myself and the president."

The slender, youthful-looking attendant nodded soberly. "I will forward your excellencies' appreciation to Ramesh."

Peixoto broke the connection. "I can sense his distress," Burhan had said. It could well be true, but it was a frail basis for decisions. He looked at Chang Lung-Chi, who looked back grimly.

"How," Chang asked, "could the intruder armada-the invader armada-have arrived at Star without our being notified of their emergence?"

"I can think of a possibility. It is the beginning of the rainy season at New Kerry. The whole planet celebrates, drinking intoxicants, squirting water on people… Perhaps no one was tending the detector at the time… Or the invader may never have emerged there. Their savant may simply be ill."