The longer Altair and Hermes chatted, the better they knew each other; in manner the latter was a kindly old man.
At first Altair balked at the Spectator gift—who wouldn't be sickened by an opponent who could foresee every move?
Yet the awkwardness vanished as the talk went on; if Adam hadn't been watching, Altair would have sworn he'd been hypnotized.
After an unmeasured while, Adam, seated beneath the great cross, finally spoke: the gathering had begun.
Adam's voice sounded again in Altair's mind: "As the newcomer you must introduce yourself; a codename is allowed."
"My suggestion: Empress."
Altair, the person in question, gave the idea a moment's thought and did not refuse.
When Hermes finished his greeting, Altair rose, drew the skirt to both sides, bent the knees slightly, bowed her head with a smile, and dropped a perfect curtsy. A second later she straightened and said:
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen; please call me Empress."
After the introduction no one stirred at the audacious codename; Altair nodded to the company and sat.
In this Western-culture world, as long as the title wasn't flaunted in public, no one would bother to meddle.
Listening to the rest, Altair noticed most used codenames; of the few real names offered, truth was impossible to gauge.
Watching the greetings drag on, Altair thought: 'So many people—at this rate we'll be here all night.'
Hermes murmured beside him: "They're only doing this because you're new; next meeting we'll skip the roll-call."
Altair turned and stared as though the old man were a ghost. Hermes chuckled at the look:
"I'm not reading your mind—every newcomer wonders the same. I merely answered early."
Altair could not bring himself to believe it fully.
He forced his thoughts to quiet; after Adam's warning, caution was wise.
And this was, after all, the Spectators' stronghold—Pathway of the Spectator everywhere. In short: 'I loathe Spectators, especially the long-lived ones.'
When the introductions ended the real session began. A stern middle-aged man in Southern Continent dress opposite Altair said:
"This morning the Feysac Empire's colonial corps in the Southern Continent launched a major assault on Loen's colonies."
"The fighting had not stopped when I arrived; does anyone here know why Feysac attacked and when it might end?"
At once a man replied: "The Feysac court decided suddenly."
"Agents in Backlund reported Loen's army is re-equipping with a powerful new weapon for Southern Continent deployment."
"Feysac hopes to wipe out Loen's strength there first and limit later losses."
The questioner sighed: "So it's the weapon again. Couldn't Feysac solve it at the source—kill the maker, wreck the plant, steal the recipe?"
Altair inwardly cursed: solve it at the source—what good would killing me do?
If you're weak, train harder; cheap tricks won't help.
The first half of the meeting circled round that war; the man wanted it over because it upset his plans, and he kept urging Feysac to dispose of Altair.
Altair, sitting right there, grew furious; he itched to leap up and slap the man. The fellow urged Feysac to murder him and still demanded the technology, pressing an artisan to crack it fast.
Such brazen provocation made Altair swear: 'Let me learn your real identity and I'll put a fat price on your head.'
Yet for the sake of anonymity he swallowed the rage and listened.
Fortunately the artisan admitted he had made no headway with the new gunpowder; reverse-engineering it was "fiendishly complex."
Altair mentally saluted the craftsman and thanked Roselle for never spreading chemistry.
Because advanced powders rest on chemical synthesis; without a sound grasp of chemistry you cannot recreate the new gunpowder, let alone reverse-engineer it.
Even with artisan analysis you would need purpose-built machinery and precise proportions.
World-War-era basic formulas are easy enough to guess, but matching factory performance and mass-producing challenges industrial nations, let alone a handicraft age.
Still, the man gave useful news: Rose School of Thought's Indulgers are hunting the Temperance faction; Sequence 2 Reinette Tinicole has not appeared to stop it.
Altair ran the timeline: in the original history Si'er A became a true Abomination toward the end of 1340, letting Indulgers dominate and launch the purge.
Which meant the coconut-tree queen might already have fallen, and Sharon and Maric could have fled the Southern Continent for Backlund by ship.
Should I swoop in for bargains? High-Sequence Beyonder characteristics are impossible, but formulas, lore, and copied secret books of the Temperance faction would be priceless.
When the Southern Continent topics ended, Northern Continent members spoke.
The Feynapotter Kingdom, an agricultural giant with backward industry, has lost colonial wars; worshipping the Earth Mother, its people now loathe conflict.
Yet border friction with Intis continues—Feynapotter is always the one crushed, its army nearly worn away.
The news was fresh but useless to Altair; excluded from the talk, he began to drowse.